


You’re the Headline on My Paper Heart

by AlannaofRoses



Series: Breaking News: I Love You [1]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Abuse of Minors by People in Authority, Angst, Blood and Injury, Boys In Love, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Davey POV, Fluff, Gap Filler, Getting Together, Jack and Davey Actually Talk, Jack's Time at the Refuge, Language, M/M, No Katherine Hate, eventually, hints of Sprace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26269783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlannaofRoses/pseuds/AlannaofRoses
Summary: David Jacobs had always heard falling in love was like falling asleep – slowly and then all at once. Figures Jack Kelly would make himself the exception to that rule too.Or the canon rewrite that wouldn't stop bugging me where David Jacobs is terribly in love with Jack Kelly, but it takes a strike, a betrayal, and a reunion to get him to confront his feelings.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Series: Breaking News: I Love You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908613
Comments: 75
Kudos: 108





	1. Papes

**Author's Note:**

> Recognizable dialogue is taken from Newsies: The Broadway Musical Movie and is not mine.

When David Jacobs wakes up on the morning he starts his first job, his stomach is twisted up somewhere in his chest.

It’s a Monday, and on a regular Monday David would have another hour to sleep before waking, his school clothes pressed and polished and waiting. On a regular Monday, David would be worried about a math test, or memorizing science facts, or an English paper that was giving him trouble.

On a regular Monday, Mayer Jacobs would be going to work.

He could still remember the way his parents had sat him down after supper on Friday. How Mayer’s face had been ten shades of shamed and Esther’s eyes had glittered brokenly in the candlelight. The way their hands had tangled together as they had told him just how bad the situation had become.

If David had known that Friday was his last day at school for what could be a long time, would he have done anything differently?

It doesn’t matter now, he supposes. He’s going to be a Newsie. He’s going to earn money, and support his family, and someday Mayer’s arm will heal and David can go back to finish his education.

The thought doesn’t settle his nerves as much as he’d hoped. He still has to survive today.

The dawn is mercifully cool and dry, the sun just lightening the sky to a dusky blue. It will be sweltering later, but at least they won’t have to deal with rain or snow or sleet. Small blessings, but David is willing to count anything right now.

Les whines as David shakes him awake, his tiny body limp and warm with slumber. He perks up quick enough when he realizes what day it is, stuffing his meager breakfast into his mouth with an enthusiasm David wished he shared.

David chews his own breakfast slowly, forcing himself to swallow. He’s far too nervous to actually taste it, but he knows he will need to energy long before it’s time to eat the sandwiches their mother had packed last night in the canvas bag David knew was a Newsie trademark.

Sarah and the Jacobs’ parents are just stirring as David and Les slip on their shoes. Sarah and Esther will be taking in laundry throughout the day to supplement what David manages to bring home from selling the papers. Esther kisses them both on the cheek, Sarah waving sleepily behind her. Mayer can hardly bring himself to look David in the eye.

“Hey Pops. It’s alright. I don’t mind being a Newsie, really.” David assured him. “I’m sure you’ll be healed up soon enough, and then everything can go back to normal.”

Mayer cuffed him around the neck affectionately. “You’re a good lad, David. Keep your brother safe out there.”

“Will do.” David promised, tugging his cap down. “Bye!”

Newsie’s square isn’t actually that far from the Jacobs’ small apartment, but David has never had occasion to visit it before. As they approach, more and more boys appear out of seemingly nowhere, hooting, hollering, and roughhousing each other in that general direction. David hides a yawn behind his hand and wonders if being a Newsie will turn him into a morning person too.

He jumps when a boy lets loose a loud curse mere steps from them, resisting the urge to cover Les’ ears with a resigned sigh. He supposes Les will still be getting an education, if not necessarily the one their parents had wanted for him.

The circulation bell clangs in the distance, the boys around David and Les scattering as they darted ahead. David tucks Les close, shouts and laughter greeting them as they shoved their way into the square. It’s a beehive, boys flitting this way and that in no pattern David can discern. Still, the activity does seem to be centered around one spot, where a boy leaning heavily on a rough-hewn crutch is laughing at something his friend is saying, both of them wearing the rough, patched clothes that seem to characterize the Newsboys. A pair of rather better dressed boys are glaring at the injured boy’s friend from behind the stacks of papers.

“Papes for the Newsies! Line up!” A rotund man shouts.

The boys settle slightly, chattering and jostling one another as they form a rough line. Les tugs David with him and they manage to shuffle a place near the start.

The injured boy’s friend moves towards the front like he owns the place. “Morning Weasel! Ya miss me?”

“Name’s Wiesel.” The rotund man scowls, but there is a tone of resignation that says the argument is both familiar and one he won’t be winning.

“Ain’t that what I said?” The boy asks, turning to the next boy in line, who smirks back. “I’ll take the usual.” He slaps down a coin with a confident air David envies.

“Hundred papes for the wise guy.” Wiesel bites out.

David is just wondering what exactly the kid thought he was doing, antagonizing the distributor, when the next boy starts up. “How’s it going, Weasel?”

“At least call me mister.” Wiesel grumbles back.

“Well, I’ll call you sweetheart if you spot me fifty papes, huh?” The boy shoots back, tucking an unlit cigar into his cheek.

Papes. David mouths the word. Papes. He can do this.

“Drop the cash, and move it along!” Wiesel snarls.

“Whoo, well, whatever happened to romance?” Cigar kid pouts, dropping a coin and snatching up his papers.

“Next!”

It’s the boy with the crutch. “Morning, Mr. Wiesel.” He says, placing his coin on the collection box.

Wiesel chuckles. “Fifty papes for Crutchie.”

Crutchie. David had heard of the Newsboy’s nicknames, but Crutchie seemed a little on the nose for a kid with a gimp leg. He wondered what the rest of the boys called themselves. Cigar kid and Crutchie’s loud mouthed friend were sat near the wagons, perusing the papers.

David’s attention was pulled back to Wiesel as the man laughed. He suddenly realized he was standing frozen at the head of the line.

“Have a look at this. A new kid.” Wiesel snipped unpleasantly.

David didn’t get a chance to answer before Les popped out from behind him, obviously having missed the sarcasm. “I’m new too!”

“Hey don’t worry kid, it rubs right off!” Called Cigar kid.

Several of the other boys laughed.

“I’ll take twenty newspapers.” David said politely, and then cringed. Papes. If Wiesel hadn’t already announced it, everyone would know he was no seasoned Newsie now.

“Twenty for the new kid.” Wiesel said.

David was busy hoping the name didn’t stick, so he almost jumped when Wiesel spoke again. “Well, let’s see the dime?”

David blinked at Wiesel for a moment before realization set in. “I’ll pay when I sell them.”

Wiesel laughed. “C’mon, cash up front.”

Newsies snickered behind him, and David could feel his face flushing.

He’d seen the other boys putting down coin, but surely there must be some mistake. “Well whatever I don’t sell, you buy back, right?”

The heckling grew louder, the boys behind him rustling impatiently.

“Certainly!” Wiesel mocked. “Oh, and every time you lose a tooth, I put a penny under your pillow. C’mon. Drop the cash and move along.”

David pulled a dime from his bag a set it gently on the counter, taking the stack of papers – papes – already held out in front of him.

Behind him, the next Newsie stepped up to needle at Wiesel some more, but David could barely hear it over the roaring in his ears. This morning was not going as planned. At this rate, he’d die of embarrassment by lunch.

He flipped through his papers. Then he thumbed through them again, slower. He heard the boys erupt into raucous laughter behind him. Bolstering what remained of his courage, he spun around.

“I’m sorry, excuse me!” Every eye in the square turned on him and he gulped. “I paid for twenty but you gave me nineteen.” His voice stayed steady, which was the only reason he kept his feet.

“See how nice I was to this new kid?” Wiesel glared at him. “And what do I get for my civility?”

A flash of blue shirt, and someone snatched the papers out of David’s hands.

“Hey!” He protested.

It was Crutchie’s friend, the line leader. He was flipping through David’s papes with a practiced ease.

Wiesel is still approaching. “Ungrounded accusations.”

David’s not proud of it, but he takes a step back as the man looms over him. “I just want what I paid for.” He protests weakly, regretting the whole affair and wondering if it was too late to just snatch Les up and run back to the apartment. Surely the factory couldn’t be worse than this.

“He said beat it!” The kid behind the counter snarls, and David has just made up his mind to leave when another voice breaks in.

“Whoa!” Crutchie’s friend says, spinning around, David’s papes held loosely in one hand. “New kid’s right, Weasel. You gave him nineteen.”

David relaxes as Wiesel turns his attention on the other boy. His heart is still thundering, and he’s sure his cheeks are scarlet, but at least he’s no longer the center of attention.

“Hey,” The kid in blue is still going on, “I’m sure it’s an honest mistake, on account of Oscar can’t count to twenty with his shoes on.”

The Newsie’s roared with laughter, and David closed his eyes in resignation.

Oscar launched himself at Crutchie’s friend, but the kid just jumped back, laughing at him. Wiesel slammed another pape into David’s arms, Crutchie’s friend passing back the rest a moment later.

“Now take a hike!” Wiesel said.

David was turning to do just that, but apparently Blue wasn’t done yet. “Hey! Give the new kid fifty more papes.” He said, clinking down another coin.

David waved him off. “I don’t want more papes.”

He’d said the wrong thing again, judging by the sudden silence and the looks the other Newsie exchanged.

“A Newsie don’t want more papes.” Blue said, incredulously.

“I’m no charity case.” David said, hoping his voice was firm. “I don’t even know you.” He brushed past Blue, motioning for Les to follow him. Perhaps he could still salvage this morning if they got a decent selling spot.

It’s Les’ voice that stops him in his tracks this time. “His name’s Jack!”

David turns around.

Crutchie is saying something about Jack Kelly being famous, but David isn’t paying attention to him. He’s looking at Blue - Jack. Jack, who is staring down at Les. Jack, who’s eyes had softened and crinkled up at the corners. Jack, who was giving Les a slow, sweet smile that was completely at odds with the brash bravado of his earlier actions.

David Jacobs stared at that smile and felt his heart stop. Love at first sight wasn’t a thing he’d ever believed in, but right now he believed he was in way over his head.

Crutchie is still talking, David vaguely hearing the story he’s spinning about Roosevelt’s carriage.

Les has wandered closer, listening to Crutchie with wide eyes. Jack saunters after him, a thin veneer of swagger painted over the softness in his eyes.

“How old is you kid?” Jack asks Les.

“I’m ten!” Les turns to proclaim, clutching his Newsie bag proudly. Then he shrugs. “Almost.”

Jack laughs, but it’s kind. “Well, if anybody asks, youse seven.” He says, poking Les lightly in the ribs with a finger.

Les nods seriously, clearly ready to do whatever his new hero told him to do. David was finding it hard to fault him. There was something magnetic about Jack’s personality, a wildfire painting the gray walls of David’s heart in crimson and gold.

“Younger sells more papes.” Jack is explaining. “And if we’re gonna be partners…”

“Who said we want a partner?” David had to open his damn fool mouth. Still, as charming as Jack is, David is wary of trusting anyone before he has his feet under him out here. He doesn’t trust himself to know if he’s being taken for a ride, not until he figures out the ground rules.

Crutchie gives him a look of disbelief. “Uh, selling with Jacky is the chance of a lifetime. You learn from him, you learn from the best.”

There is naked affection on Crutchie’s face, and Jack’s doing that thing with his eyes again, and Les is sticking out his lip, and David knows he’s already lost the war but he can’t quite keep himself from picking the battle anyway.

“If he’s the best, what’s he need with me?”

“Cause you got a little brudder,” Jack shoots back, his accent thick as honey, “and I don’t. With that pus we could easily sell a thousand papes a week!” Les is grinning like a loon as Jack motions to him. “Hey, look sad, kid.”

Les’s face instantly falls into the most cartoonishly pitiful expression David has ever seen. Jack and Crutchie laugh.

“We’re gonna make millions!” Jack grins, amusement laced into his every word.

It’s doing funny things to David’s chest.

Thankfully Les seems much less tongue-tied. “This is my brother David. I’m Les.”

“Hey nice to meet you Davey.” Jack says, swagger back in place. “My two bits come off the top, we split everything else seventy-thirty, alright?”

David is still trying to figure out which part of that sentence he wants to argue about first, but Les saves him again.

“Fifty-fifty!” David’s little brother shoots back. “You wouldn’t try to pull a fast one on a little kid?”

Oh, he’s good. Jack clearly thinks so too, if the grin he can’t quite keep from tugging at his mouth is any indication.

“Sixty-fourty.” Jack says firmly, pointing a finger at Les’s smug face. “And that is my final offer.”

Les turns to look at David, and suddenly the crafty businessman is gone, and Les is just David’s tiny little brother, looking for reassurance that he’s doing the right thing. David’s still not sure, but he also finds he can’t break Les’ heart right now. He takes a second, weighing his options, and then nods.

Les’ grin is firmly back in place as he whirls back to Jack. “Deal!”

Jack spit in his hand and holds it out, and before David can protest, Les copies him, shaking on it.

“That’s disgusting.” Did he say that out loud? He makes a note to have Les rinse his hand in the fountain before they leave the square.

“That’s just business.” Jack smirks, clapping Les on the shoulder. He turns to the other boys. “Newsies! Hit the streets! The sun is up, the headline stinks, and this kid ain’t getting’ any younger!”

And that is how David Jacobs finds himself trotting to keep up with the famous Jack Kelly, Les bounding at his side as they leave Newsies square in a rush of raucous boys already shrieking their versions of the headline as they scatter across the streets of Brooklyn.


	2. Morning Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David learns that being a Newsie is harder than he thought.

It doesn’t take David long to realize that Jack is every bit as good as Crutchie had boasted. The other boy is moving his copies of the morning pape in twos and threes, even with the lackluster headline.

Les is doing fairly well too, wiggling his way through the crowds with his small stature and sweet eyes. David tries not to panic every time he loses sight of Les behind some lady’s skirts or another slow-moving cart. He knows the streets can be dangerous. He’s heard the stories.

But he is also watching Jack. Jack who is loose-limbed and light, holding his top pape up like he was born with it in his hand. Jack who charms lady and gentleman alike. Jack who subtly guides David and Les along what David realizes must be a well-known route. Jack, who can’t quite hide the way his eyes light up every time Les scurries back to them dancing with excitement.

David doesn’t trust easily. He’s especially not used to trusting anyone else to look after Les, save Sarah and their parents. But there is something about the way Jack listens to Les, something in the way the other boy gives tips that are simple but never condescending. Something in the way Jack treats Les – like a Newsie, not a kid – that calms David’s fear.

“Buy me last pape, miss?” Les adds a little cough at the end, looking up at the pink-skirted lady with big, sad eyes.

“Oh, you poor dear!” The lady coos, handing over the coin.

She’s barely out of earshot before Les beams. “It worked! Jack, it worked!”

“What’d I tell ya, kid?” Jack says affectionately. “You’re a natural Newsie.”

“Did you hear that, Davey?” Les asks eagerly. “I’m a natural Newsie!”

David smiles distractedly at his brother as Jack moves off to another group of potential customers. “Davey?”

Les cocks his head. “’S what Jack calls you. Don’t you like it? It’s a Newsie nickname, like Crutchie or Racetrack or Specs! I guess that makes you a real Newsie now too, huh?”

“Why Davey, though? I mean, Jack just gets to be Jack.”

Les thinks for a minute. “I dunno. Crutchie called him Jacky once?”

David grimaces. “Eh, I think I’ll stick to Jack.”

Les wrinkles his nose, nodding. “Me too.”

The boy himself interrupts them at that moment. “Hey! New kids! Youse gonna stand there all day or youse gonna sell some papes?”

Les darts over with a grin, and Jack matches it. “Papes it is. Here you go kid.”

“Thanks Jack! Imma go get that lady!”

“Youse got this!” Jack shooed him off.

David sighed. At the rate they were going, Les’ proper English would be forgotten by nightfall. Still, at least the kid was having fun. David had only managed to sell six papers thus far. Jack’s stack was starting to get thin, even though he’d taken the brothers original twenty to carry for Les. Whatever else David might be, he was apparently not a born Newsie.

He approached another businessman. “Hello sir! Morning paper? Read up on the trolley strike!”

“No, thank you.” The man waved him off.

David stopped at the corner, defeated. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and saw Jack watching him. “What?”

“Hey.” Jack held up the hand not carrying papes. “No need to snap. Just wondering if you want some tips.”

“You give them freely enough to Les.” David replied, a bit sharper than he’d intended.

“Sure.” Jack said easily. “An’ he’s over the moon about it. Little kids like the attention. It’s the ones like you an’ me that’s got our pride. We don’t take kindly to people telling us what we’s doing wrong.” He gave David a lopsided, self-deprecating smile.

David dropped his shoulders with a sigh. “I’m sorry Jack. I’m out of sorts.”

Jack shrugged. “Youse new. I don’t know how you came to be a Newsie an’ I don’t need to. But youse a Newsie now, and that means youse family.”

David’s throat closed up, unable to find words to express himself. Rough around the edges Jack might be, but David had no illusions about how he and Les would be doing right now if Jack hadn’t taken them under his tutelage.

“I sold two more!” Les jumped between them, startling David from his thoughts.

“Good for you kid!” Jack praised, switching gears with an effortlessness David had never mastered. “Hey Les, what you say we’s give your brother a chance to do some selling. You think youse can remember the tips I gave you?”

Les turned to David, his face flushed with pleasure at the responsibility. “Look ‘em in the eyes, so’s they’re forced to see you. Angle yourself into their path, so’s they has to go out of their way to avoid you. Give ‘em a hook that’s not on the front page. Then put the pape as close to their free or dominant hand as you can and smile.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Kid’s got the brains too, I see.”

It took David a moment to parse the instructions through the syrup of Les’ affected Newsie slang, but as horrified as one part of his brain was at Les’ terrible grammar, the other was wildly impressed with his baby brother. Les had never liked school the way David had. As much as the rest of the family might have their reservations, perhaps being a Newsie would give Les the sort of life education one couldn’t get behind a desk.

“Alright, Davey.” Jack said, a challenge in his gaze. “You ready to be a real Newsie?”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Les butted in. “Be confident!”

David laughed, ruffling his brother’s hair. “Ok kid. Let’s do this.”

It was harder than David would have liked, and he often tripped over his own good intentions, too focused on following the steps Les had laid out for them to be actually useful at first. Still, the advice was good, and it became easier and easier as the morning wore on to insert himself into a passerby’s route and come out one paper lighter. Jack and Les still had to help him move the last of his stack, but they never made David feel an ounce of shame for it.

“You’re catching on fast, Davey.” Jack grinned as Les was hawking their last one. “Faster than most who ain’t born to it.”

David took a deep breath. “Thank you, Jack.”

“Eh?”

David turned to face him fully, staring into those hazel eyes shot through with all the colors of the sunset. “I mean it Jack. We would have been sunk without you. We might not even have moved the twenty papes.”

Jack shrugged. “Hey, no biggie. I takes care of my own, yeah?”

Something in David sighed happily at being called Jack’s, even if he knew that wasn’t what the other boy meant by it. “Yeah.”

“We did it!” Les squealed, running to meet them.

“Alright!” Jack answered, cuffing Les around the shoulder. “Let’s take a short break, and then we’ll go back to the square for round two.”

“Round two?” Les asked.

“Evening pape.” Jack nodded. “We’s got the morning and evening papes Monday through Saturday, and then morning, evening, and special edition on Sunday afternoons.”

“Oh.” Les’ eyes were wide.

Jack smiled at him. “How many papes a week is that, Les?”

Les scrunched up his nose, counting on his fingers. “Uh, six days… plus three… fifteen!”

“Very good! I told you, youse got brains. Gots ta be smart to be a Newsie. Can you read?”

“Yeah. Mostly. There were some really big words in the paper that I couldn’t quite get.” Les shrugged.

“Well that’s okay.” Jack assured him. “You can learn to sound ‘em out. Plus the big fancy words aren’t usually as important as all the words around them for figuring out what’s going on.”

“Cool!”

“Hey Jack,” David broke in, realizing where their walking had taken them, “I think Les and I were going to take our lunch break in Central Park. Do you want to join us?”

“Nah. Youse have fun.” Jack said. “I gots to go check in on the boys anyway. I’ll come back to pick youse up before the bell?”

“Okay.”

With a jaunty wave, Jack strode off down the street.

David and Les turned into the Park, a haven of green in the dirty city. Without too much trouble, they found a flat spot shaded by trees and sat in the grass, David pulling out the sandwiches. Les ate his with gusto, gushing around each mouthful about how awesome Jack was and how much fun being a Newsie was going to be. David listened quietly, savoring his sandwich and grateful that Les was having a good first experience, even though it remained to be seen how long his enthusiasm would last when the weather turned bad.

The hour went by quickly, the shade turning the heat into a kind blanket. David found himself dozing off a couple times while Les chased birds and squirrels around the bushes.

He was so relaxed, in fact, that it took him several seconds to register that Jack had joined them, leaning against the tree, his keen eyes watching Les fondly.

“Heya Jack.” David said happily.

Jack looked down, the dappled light crowning him as he smiled at David. “Heya yourself, Davey. Youse ready to get back to it?”

David stretched, letting his hands skim the soft grass in appreciation. “Yeah.”

“Hey Les!” Jack shouted. “Let’s get a move on!”

“Coming!” Les shrieked back, scattering what few pigeons remained as he took off running.

David had just gotten up and was brushing off his pants. He was looking straight at Jack or he wouldn’t have seen it.

Les barreled into the Newsie like a freight train, and Jack flinched. Hard. He recovered quick, quick enough David doubted Les had even noticed, but David had.

It wasn’t the touch, Jack had been casually affectionate with both the brothers almost from the get go. In fact, it had been David who had been a little thrown off by the touches, at least until he watched Jack long enough to realize it was just how he was. Jack had a mouth, and he wasn’t afraid to use it, but it was his body that really spoke.

And right now, it was telling David something he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

He’d known a lot of street kids had bad pasts. He’d heard the stories, seen the faces on the corner or in the orphanages that Esther and Sarah would get them to volunteer at in the winter. But he’d never looked into one of those faces and seen a friend. They’d always been ‘those poor kids’. Now, they were all Jack.

Jack, with the smile that made his eyes crinkle. Jack, who was so very good with Les. Jack, with his loud mouth and his even louder personality.

Jack, who David was hopelessly in love with.

Jack had been hurt.

Someone had hurt Jack.

David didn’t consider himself a violent person, but if the anger that was welling in his throat was any indication, he would quite cheerfully punch each and every person who had ever dared to lay a hand on Jack Kelly.

“C’mon!” Jack said, breaking into David’s musings. “We’s gonna miss the bell if we don’t get a move on.”

“Let’s go!” Les cheered, darting away.

Jack chuckled, glancing back at David before following.

David took a deep breath, steadying himself. He couldn’t change what had happened in Jack’s past, but he could help make Jack’s future brighter. He hadn’t expected to find someone like Jack when he’d stepped into Newsie square this morning, but now that he had found him, David was never ever letting him go. 


	3. Performances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David learns more about Jack, and finds himself drawn ever further into the Newsies world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I start this chapter I want to give a special shout out to @newsiesquare on Tumblr. They were generous enough to allow me to play with some of their headcanons for this fic, and I can't wait for you guys to see the awesome stuff they let me borrow! Hopefully you'll find out more in a few chapters, and I will reveal the specific headcanons they let me use after the chapter in which they appear so as not to spoil anyone. 
> 
> This is also the chapter where we start diverging from canon! From now on many of the canon scenes will be rewritten, sometimes slightly, sometimes majorly, to serve the ultimate Javid goal. Enjoy!

“Paper! Paper!” David called. There was a man coming down the sidewalk. David moved. Look him in the eyes, step into his path… “Evening pape here!” He offered, but the man waved him off.

David stared down at the headline in disappointment. He had thought he was getting the hang of it after this morning, but apparently he’d just gotten lucky or something.

Jack chuckled behind him. “Sing ‘em to sleep, why don’t you?” He tugged the paper from David’s hands, waving it above his head. “Extray, extray! Terrified flight from burnin’ inferno! You heard the story right here!” Within seconds, a man was handing Jack a coin. “Hey thanks mister!”

David sighed. “You just made that up.”

“I did not, I said he heard it right here, an’ he did.” Jack said slyly.

“Well my father taught us not to lie.”

Jack chuckled, darker this time. “Well mine taught me not to starve.”

David felt a flash of shame. While he still wasn’t sure he was okay with Jack’s loose approach to the truth, he realized he had no idea of what it really took to survive on the streets. The more he learned about what it was really like to be a Newsie, the more grateful he was for two parents and a roof over his head.

“Hey!” Les cried, running to them. “Just sold my last paper!”

David sighed again. “I’ve still got one more.” And they had split the stack half and half this time. Les really was a natural.

“Sell it or pay for it.” Jack warned.

“Give it here!” Les said, grabbing it. He hurried up to a finely dressed lady. “Buy a pape from a poor, orphan boy?” He said sweetly, coughing into his sleeve. Clearly Les had no problem with lying.

“Oh you poor thing!” The lady melted. “Of course I’ll take a newspaper. Here’s a dime.”

David’s eyes bulged. Jack choked.

Les held up the dime in awe, staring at it.

“Born to the breed!” Jack crowed, joining him.

“This is so much better than school!” Les squealed.

“Don’t even think it.” David cautioned, even as he failed to wipe the smile completely off his face. “When pop goes back to work, we go back to school.”

“Hey,” Jack said, having wandered away for a moment. “So hows about we divvy up the money, we’ll grab some chow, and find you someplace safe to spend the night.”

“Oh no.” David was already shaking his head before Jack’s whole sentence had even registered. “We have to get home, our folks’ll be waiting with dinner.” He’s carefully counting out Jack’s share of the coins, so he almost misses the sudden tension.

“You got folks.”

David freezes.

“Ah.” Jack isn’t looking at them, playing with the strap of his bag.

“Doesn’t… everyone?” Les asks.

David reaches out to quiet him, wishing he could have stopped the words before they were spoken. Les doesn’t mean anything by it, but the look on Jack’s face is breaking David’s heart.

The Newsie scoffs lightly, trying to shrug it off, but it’s clear that he’s been thrown. David just hopes he doesn’t hate them or something now. He knew they wouldn’t have survived today without his help, and even if he doesn’t want to sell with them anymore, David can no longer imagine a world without Jack in it.

He feels like he has to explain. “Our dad tangled with a delivery truck on the job. Messed him up bad, so they laid him off.” He presses Jack’s share of the coins into the Newsie’s hand, taking a small comfort from the feel of the rough palm against his fingers. “That’s how come we had to find work.”

Jack still isn’t looking at him, playing with the coins. It’s only been a day, but David has learned enough of Jack’s tells to realize he’s not counting them. “Yeah, sure, that… that makes sense. Yeah. Um… too bad about your dad.”

He’s going to walk away. He’s going to walk away, and it’ll be like today never happened, and Jack will never look at them the same way again. David panics.

“Look, why don’t you come home with us for dinner? Our folks will be happy to have you.”

“Mom’s a great cook!” Les chimes in, trying to be helpful.

Jack’s still backing away. His devil-may-care attitude is rebuilding itself, but it can’t quite mask the lost look in his eyes. “Ah, thanks for the invite. I just remembered, I got plans, with a fella. He’s probably waiting on me right now… I…”

David has just resigned himself to watching Jack walk away, when Les pipes up one last time.

“Is that the guy you’re meetin’?” He points.

Jack stops, takes a step towards Les to look where he’s pointing. “What?”

Jack and the suited man see each other at the exact same time.

“Kelly!” The man roars.

Naked panic rushes across Jack’s face. David feels his pulse skyrocket. Jack had been their seasoned guide all day, and David had a feeling that anything that could shake the unflappable Newsie must be truly awful.

“Run for it!” Jack gasps, reaching for Les.

He takes off like a shot, and David follows as best as he can. Jack clearly knows these streets back to front, and he darts through gaps and into openings, finding paths David would never have even seen on his own.

It’s breathless and wild and David thinks that if this desperate flight weren’t powered by Jack’s abject terror, it might almost be fun. Still, by the time they duck into the stage door of a small theatre David is winded and annoyed.

“Slow down.” Jack pants, “We lost him.”

“Someone wanna tell me why I’m running?” David can’t help but shout, his frustration boiling over. “I got no one chasing me.”

Jack’s bent in half, gasping for breath. There are still traces of fear in his posture and it’s making David lash out in his own fright.

“Who was that guy?”

“That there was Snyder.” Jack spat. “The Spider. A real sweetie.” He stood, his motions jerky and tense. “He runs a jail for underage kids called the Refuge. The more kids he brings in, the more the city pays him. Problem is all that money goes right into his own pocket.” Jack sighed, the tension draining out of him in favor of exhaustion. “Just do yourself a favor. Stay clear of him. And the Refuge.”

“I hear you.” David reassured him. And he did. He probably heard more than Jack wanted him to. It wasn’t that hard to connect the dots between Jack’s flinch earlier, the terror at Snyder’s appearance, and the way Jack’s voice tripped over the Refuge like it was poison. Not to mention, Snyder had called him by name.

What was it Crutchie had said earlier? Jack escaping from jail with Theodore Roosevelt? At the time David had thought it was some delusion of grandeur, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“Hey!” A woman’s voice called. “You up there! Shoo! No kids allowed in the theatre!”

David opened his mouth to apologize, but Jack beat him to it.

“Not even me, Miss Medda?”

David snorted under his breath. Of course Jack seemed to know everyone in this entire borough.

“Jack Kelly?” Medda asked, smiling.

“Yeah.” Jack grinned back, all boyish charm, any thought of Snyder carefully erased from his face.

This boy was giving David serious whiplash.

“Man of mystery.” Medda was shaking her head in amusement. “Get yourself down here and give me a hug!”

Jack did just that, letting the older woman swallow him up in a giant bear hug. Jack wasn’t tiny by any means, but in Medda’s gentle arms he looked like a little kid hiding from the scary monsters of the world. David decided he liked Medda very much.

“Where you been keeping yourself, kid?” Medda asked.

“Oh, never far from you, Miss Medda!” Jack charmed, looking her up and down with a practiced eye.

Medda waved him off, both of them grinning.

“Boys!” Jack turned back to David and Les. “May I introduce Miss Medda Larkin, the greatest star in the Bowery today.”

Medda preened.

“She also owns the joint.” Jack continued, and it was awfully cute, watching them together. It was clear they were each deeply fond of the other.

“Oh, the only thing I own is the mortgage.” Medda chuckled. “Pleasure gents!”

“A pleasure.” David replied, bending at the waist. It took him a moment to realize Les was standing behind him, facing away and standing stock still. He pushed at his brother’s shoulder. “What is wrong with you?”

“Are you blind?” Les screeched. “She got no clothes on!”

David spun around, and sure enough, there were a couple ladies dressed in a way that left very little to the imagination.

“That’s her costume!” David chided.

“But I can see her legs!” Les wailed.

Huh. Sure enough. David rolled his eyes. Jack was laughing behind Les’ back, his face brighter than David had ever seen it.

“Well, step out of his way so’s he can get a better look!” Medda was saying.

David sighed as the theatre ladies posed saucily for his little brother’s amusement, exchanging glances with a still-mirthful Jack.

“Theatre’s not only entertaining, it’s educational.” Medda finished, her words laced with amusement. “Got the picture, kid?”

Les nodded eagerly, the girls giggling as they moved off. David resisted the urge to groan. His parents were going to kill him.

“Say, Miss Medda,” Jack said, having finally stopped laughing at David’s misfortune. “we got a little situation on the street. You mind if I hide out here a while?”

“Oh where better to escape trouble than a theatre.” Medda said easily, but David could hear the current of concern. “Is Snyder after you again?”

David mentally raised Snyder’s threat level. He was going to have to have a conversation with Jack about him at some point. If the guy was as dangerous as Jack made him out to be, David wasn’t sure it was safe to have Les around the person Snyder seemed to hold a personal grudge against.

“Hey Jack?” Les asked. “Did you really escape jail on the back of Teddy Roosevelt’s carriage?”

David moved forward, cautious about his little brother ruining Jack’s newfound good mood once again. “C’mon, what would the governor be doing at a juvenile jail?”

Les shrugged.

“It so happens,” Jack started, and David looked up at him in surprise, “he was running for office, and he wanted to show he cared about orphans and such.” David nearly flinched at the bitterness in Jack’s tone. He wanted to apologize, for what he didn’t know, but it was clear he and Les had stepped right on an old wound of Jack’s. He just wasn’t sure how to fix it.

“So while he got his mug in a pape,” Jack continued, “I got my butt in the backseat, and off we rode together.” He said the last few words directly to Les, the bitterness fading as he shifted into the story.

Les was watching him with awestruck eyes, clearly imagining his dashing escape had been the grand adventure Jack was trying to make it sound like.

“You really know the governor?” Les asked, hero worship plain on his face.

It brought a cocky grin to Jack’s face, and David melted into a smile of his own.

“He don’t.” Medda interrupted. “But I do!”

David looked at Jack with wide eyes, and the Newsie bumped his shoulder with a knowing look.

Medda started talking again, but David found himself caught, Jack filling his entire field of vision, ethereal under the stage lights.

He almost lost the thread of conversation entirely, except, “You pictured that?” Les asked.

“Your friend is quite an artist.” Medda confirmed proudly.

“All right.” Jack raised a hand. “Take it easy. It’s a bunch of trees.”

Well sure, if you looked at it that way. But the trees seemed almost alive, swaying on a phantom wind in the most dream-like colors imaginable. David found himself thinking of the serenity of Central Park in the afternoon, mixed with the glorious coolness of a blue twilight. It was breathtaking.

“You’re really good.” He said honestly.

The tips of Jack’s ears went red.

“That boy’s got natural aptitude.” Medda confirmed.

David may have fallen head over heels for the boy who had first smiled at Les, but this shyly proud Jack was re-staking his claim to David’s heart.

“Jeez!” Les chimed in. “I never knew no one with an aptitude!”

His words broke the tension, David joining Jack and Medda’s chuckles.

Just then, Medda is called away, but not before she assures the boys that they have the run of the theatre for as long as they need it. David follows Jack backstage, where the Newsie tucks them into a corner that’s well hidden but has a great view of the stage.

Les watches the proceedings with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, and even David has to admit that Medda is very good, as are the other performers.

He’s not watching the stage though.

Jack has claimed his own spot not far away, his eyes dancing as he watches Medda perform. For a moment, with the bright stage lights washing him in color, he looks like a little kid. Joyously happy, all of the fake walls and masks he’d been wearing since David met him stripped away in the sheer delight of the music. He’s the prettiest thing David Jacobs has ever seen.

The music is just drawing to a close, Medda holding the final long syllable, when Jack shifts just enough to catch David’s gaze.

David feels his whole body lock into place, opening his mouth as if to apologize for staring, but Jack doesn’t seem upset. He merely ducks his head slightly, giving David an impossibly shy smile from under the Newsie cap.

The moment is broken a moment later as applause ricochets around the theatre, Jack snapping back to attention and clapping madly. David sits awestruck for a moment longer, carefully preserving the memory of that smile in the most secret part of his heart.

Jack is hugging Medda, congratulating her. David and Les scoot aside to let a stagehand pass with a piece of scenery, and by the time David looks back, Jack has disappeared somewhere. He tries to stuff down his disappointment and loses himself in the rest of the show.

He succeeds until Les pipes up. “Whatcha drawing?”

Someone hushes them from the audience, and Medda turns a narrowed eye on them. “You got in for free, at least pay attention!”

“Sorry Miss Medda.” Jack whispers from behind David, and David absolutely does not jump.

He resists turning around until the song is over, waiting until the Bowery beauties are bowing their way off stage before following Les to Jack’s side.

Jack flushes crimson when they corner him, clutching the bit of paper to his chest. “Hey, no peeking.”

Les pouts. “Please?”

“Eh.” Jack moans. “It’s nothing. I just think better when I’m doing something with my hands.” He reluctantly passes the paper to Les.

David feels the breath catch in his throat when he sees the simple charcoal outline. It’s Les and him, just their heads peeking out from the curtains. It’s gorgeous, clearly done with care.

“Whoa!” Les says, a finger hovering over the lines of his pictured face. “Is that me?”

“Yeah.” Jack shrugs, seemingly torn between pride and embarrassment.

“Can I keep this?” David asks, trying not to sound as desperate as he is. Except, now that he had his hands on it, he didn’t want to let it go ever again.

Jack looks up at him in surprise. “Oh. Really? Yeah, for sure. If you like it that much.”

“Thank you, Jack.” It’s nowhere near adequate, but it’s all David can think to say.

“Anything for you, Davey.” Jack ruffles Les’ hair. “C’mon, Snyder ought ta be gone by now. Let’s get youse home.”


	4. Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davey throws his lot in with the Newsies, for better or worse.

Jack had walked them home from Medda’s, but after Snyder’s chase and their stay at the theatre Davey and Les had been woefully late. Esther had been frantic, and even Mayer had visibly relaxed when they walked in the door.

Davey had explained as best he could, but it was hard to encapsulate Jack in a brief summary. Esther had just sighed, spooned them up some of the now-cold supper, and sent them to bed. Sleep had been a long time coming for Davey.

Davey. He was thinking about himself by the name Jack had given him. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he really was a Newsie now.

Morning dawned grey and gloomy, but no rain yet thankfully. Davey pulled himself from his bed reluctantly, his muscles stiff and aching from yesterday’s work. He knew it would take a few days for his body to adjust to the demands of being a Newsboy.

Les was in a bad mood, whining about every little thing right up until they reached Newsie square, where he perked up straight away at the sight of the Newsboys loitering about as they waited for the bell.

A few of the Newsies even greeted them by name, Les having made fast friends yesterday.

Davey tried to keep track of who was who. Crutchie he knew, the one he’d dubbed Cigar kid was actually called Racetrack, another boy with glasses was Specs. Oddly enough, there was no sign of Jack yet, even though Wiesel was mounting the platform to write up the day’s headlines.

“New Newsie price. 60 cents per hundred.” One of the Newsies read off.

“What’dya say?” Another asked, hurrying to check it himself.

Soon there was a small knot of boys staring up at the board.

“Is that news?” Davey asked.

“It is to me!” Said the same kid who had first read the sign.

“They jacked up the price of papes!” Racetrack grumbled as he and Crutchie joined the fray.

“10 cents more per hundred.” Another answered.

“I could eat two days on a dime!” A third yelled.

“I’ll be sleeping on the street.” Crutchie moaned.

Davey stayed silent, clutching Les’ shoulders. While the price increase wasn’t good, he and Les could still easily make enough to tide the family over, especially with Esther and Sarah also contributing. Judging by the uproar, it was going to be a lot harder on all of their new friends, who didn’t have an assured place to live or parents to help put food on the table.

Albert tugged his sleeve, and Davey went with him easily. They stepped a bit away from the others, who were still bemoaning the change and commiserating with each other.

“Do they do this often?” Davey asked.

“No.” Albert shook his head. “Not that I can remember. Look, kid, I knows Jack took ya in yesterday. Youse gonna be alright like this?” His eyes flickered to Les. “Youse gots enough to eat?”

Davey felt his heart melt at the thought that this born Newsie, who clearly had it a lot worse off than him and Les did, was so concerned about their welfare.

“We’ll be alright, thanks Albert.”

“All right!” Jack chose that moment to make his entrance. “What are y’all waiting around here for?”

“Hey Jack.” Crutchie said. “Get a load of this.”

“Like Pulitzer don’t make enough already!” Another Newsie grumbled loudly.

“Papes for the Newsies!” Wiesel snarled.

“Hey relax.” Jack chuckled. “It’s gotta be a gag.”

“Line up, boys!” Wiesel ordered.

Jack moved to the front of the line, the other Newsie’s deferring to him with practiced ease. “Hey good joke, Weasel!” Jack called. “You really had the fellas going.” He slapped down his usual coin. “I’ll take a hundred, be on my way.”

Davey would have called Wiesel’s expression gleeful, if a man like Wiesel could experience an emotion like joy. “A hundred will cost you sixty.”

The Newsies erupted.

“I ain’t paying no sixty.” Jack protested.

Wiesel smirked. “Well then make way for someone who will.”

Jack shrugged. “You bet. Me and the fellas will take a hike over to ‘The Journal’.” He slapped the collection box decisively as he passed, the other Newsies already trailing after him.

Specs came running through the gate, nearly colliding with Jack, who reached out a hand to steady him. “Hey, I’ll save you the walk. They upped their price too.”

Davey saw the first crack in Jack’s expression. “Then we’ll take our business to ‘The Sun’.” He spat at Wiesel.

Wiesel was still smiling. “Same all around town.” He said unpleasantly. “New day, new price.”

Jack strode closer, his face twisted with fury. “Hey, why the jack-up?”

Wiesel shrugged. “Well, for them kind of answers, you gotta ask further up the food chain.” He leaned casually against the wall, his fat, gloating face inches from Jack’s. “So, you buying or moving on?”

Davey held his breath, and around him he could see the other Newsie’s doing the same. Crutchie’s hand was white around his crutch, Racetrack was about to bite right through his cigar, and another Newsie’s hat was getting seriously malformed as the boy crushed it anxiously between his palms.

Jack slammed his hand down on the collection box, once, again. His face was furious and helpless as he turned back to them. “Come ‘ere fellas.” He said, motioning to them, his voice surprisingly calm for the riot of emotion Davey knew must be bursting inside of him.

Les darts in, going to stand right by Jack, and Davey can’t help a burst of affection for his little brother. Les’ hero is hurting, and Les wants to help.

The other Newsies are still talking over one another, frightened and angry. Even Crutchie’s normally bright spirits have taken a beating.

“Hey!” Jack calls over the din, and the Newsies quiet almost immediately. “Nobody’s paying no new nothing.” He says firmly.

“You got an idea?” One of the boys asked.

Jack raised a hand placatingly. “Would you keep your shirt on? Let me think this through.”

The Newsies erupted again, shouting over one another.

Les shrieked. “Stop crowding him!” Newsies jumped back left and right as Davey’s little brother bulldozed through the crowd, leaving Jack a nice five foot circle of space. “Let the man work it out!”

Even Davey gave way before Les’ fury.

Silence reigned for a long moment. Davey watched the thoughts flicker across Jack’s face. He couldn’t help but say a little prayer under his breath. He’d only known these brave Newsboys for a day, but if their panic was based in fact, Davey couldn’t bear to watch them suffer and starve just so Pulitzer and the other newspaper owners could line their pockets. He had to believe Jack could find a solution.

“Hey Jack, you still thinkin’?” Les asked innocently.

“Sure he is.” Race said flippantly. “Can’t you smell smoke?”

The Newsies laughed and groaned, a good portion of the tension in the air dissipating.

Jack’s head shoots up. “Hey!” He motions to the boys, “Hey, come here. Hurry up!”

They gather around, Les crowding in close to Jack while Davey contents himself with the outside of the circle.

“Alright, here’s the deal.” Jack starts. “If we don’t sell papes, nobody sells papes. Nobody gets to that window till they puts the price back where it belongs!”

“You mean like a strike?” It’s out before Davey has even realized he’d spoken.

Jack latches on to the idea instantly. “Well, hey, you heard Davey! We’re on strike!”

“Hold on!” Davey tries to silence the sudden chaos. “I didn’t say that!”

But Jack isn’t paying him any attention now. “We shut down this place just like them workers shut down the trolleys!”

“And the cops’ll bust our heads.” One of the Newsies protested. “Half of them strikers is laid up with broke bones.”

Jack waved him off. “Cops ain’t gonna care about a bunch of kids. Right Davey?”

Oh, now Jack wanted Davey’s opinion. “Leave me out of this.” Davey snapped. “I’m just here trying to feed my family.” A strike would be insanely dangerous, judging by what Davey had seen and heard about the trolley workers. One of the families in their tenement had two sons laid up with severe injuries. Fires and riots and beatings had happened all over the city. Davey wanted no part of that for himself, Les, or any of the Newsies either. He grabbed Les’ hand and tried to pull his little brother away.

Jack followed him. “Oh, and the rest of us is here on playtime?”

Les wiggled free, darting back to stand with Crutchie, his young face determined.

Davey stared into Jack’s sparking hazel eyes. That’s not what he’d meant, and he knew Jack knew it. But they also both knew that Davey didn’t truly belong here, surely? He’d been a Newsie for all of one day. As much as he had grown to admire these brave boys, he couldn’t put his life, his family’s lives, on the line for them.

Could he?

Jack was still talking, his voice softer now. “Just cause we only make pennies don’t give them the right to rub our noses in it.”

Davey sighed. “Look, it doesn’t matter. You can’t strike. You’re not a union.”

Jack scoffed. “What if I says we is?”

Davey gave him a look. “There’s a lot of stuff you gotta have in order to be a union.”

Jack waited.

“Like…” Davey thought for a second, “membership.”

Jack blinked. “Whaddaya call these guys?” He asked sarcastically, motioning to the gathered Newsies, who waved and whistled in reply.

Ok, fine, not Davey’s finest moment. Still, he could stop this. He had to. “…and officers.” He tried.

Crutchie piped up. “I nominate Jack president!”

The other Newsies burst into applause.

“Oh, gee. I’m touched.” Jack said, daring Davey to try again.

So he did. “How about a statement of purpose?”

“Yeah, I musta left that in my other pants.” Jack shot back without missing a beat.

“Um,” Race spoke up, moving forward. “what’s a statement of purpose?”

“A reason for forming the union.” Davey answered.

“Well what reason do the trolley workers have?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know.” Davey said honestly. “Wages, work hours, safety on the job?” He guessed.

“Who don’t need that?” Jack responded, looking back at the other boys, who nodded.

Davey hung his head. He was running out of ideas and he knew it.

“Hey.” Jack said, crowding him. “I bet if your father had a union, you wouldn’t need to be out here selling papes right now, yeah?”

Davey gave him a warning glance. Still, he wasn’t necessarily wrong. “Yeah.” He answered reluctantly.

“So!” Jack shoved him lightly in the shoulder. “Our union is hereby formed to watch each other’s backs!”

The other Newsies are getting excited, even Les caught up in the swirling adrenaline. Davey coaches himself through a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. He’s terrified, utterly terrified of what might happen, but Jack and the others aren’t wrong.

Still, he can’t let them go into this without understanding what is coming. “If you want a strike, the membership’s got to vote.” He said, raising his voice over the chatter.

“Okay, so we’ll vote.” Jack said easily. “What do ya say, fellas? The choice is yours. Do we roll over and let Pulitzer pick our pockets or do we strike?”

“STRIKE!” It’s unanimous.

“Yeah!” Jack grins at Davey, caught in the rush of the moment. “You heard the voice of the membership. The Newsies of Lower Manhattan are officially on strike!”

“Yeah!” The Newsies chorus.

“What’s next?” Jack mused.

“Wouldn’t a strike be more effective if someone in charge knew about it?” Crutchie offered.

Race stood instantly. “Ay, well, it would be a pleasure to tell Weasel myself!”

“And who tells Pulitzer, huh?” Another Newsie asked.

“Davey?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know.” Davey said, weakly. He felt paralyzed, rooted to the spot with fear. Jack. Jack with his painters hands and his cocky grin and his soft, soft heart. Davey thought of him broken and bleeding like the neighbor boy, and it nearly choked him.

But then he turned and saw every Newsie in the square watching him. Elmer. Specs. Albert. Race. Les, his eyes as wide as saucers. Strike, and there was a chance they’d get soaked, sure. But don’t strike, and half these boys could die of starvation by the end of the winter. There weren’t any good choices here. There was only the right choice, and damn the consequences.

He closes his eyes. “I guess you do, Mr. President.”

The joy on Jack’s face swells in Davey’s chest. “That’s right!”

He walks over to where Jack is using a stack of papers as a platform, and the Newsie leans down to meet him.

“Hey.” Jack says, smiling at him. “We do. We…” He paused, pursing his lip. “So whadda we tell ‘im?”

“Well,” Davey answered, trying to remember his government lessons. “the newspaper owners need to respect your rights as employees.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Jack raised his voice to the other Newsies. “Pulitzer and Hearst gotta respect the rights of the working kids of this city!”

Davey matches him. “Why, they can’t just change the rules when they feel like it!”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Jack picks up the thread. “We do the work, so we get a say!”

“YEAH!” The Newsies answer.

Davey jumps up beside Jack, his heart racing as he looks out over the gathered boys, his friends. “We got a union!”

For a long moment, he lets himself get swept away in the excitement, Newsies hugging and shaking and congratulating each other.

Race darts up the window, and Davey watches Wiesel’s face contort in fury, the Delancey brothers scowling behind him.

He looks at Jack. He thinks, ‘last chance to turn back’. He takes a deep breath, and pulls off his paper bag, staring Jack dead in the eye as he crumples it and drops it to the dusty ground.

Jack’s slow, satisfied smile is the only thing Davey needs to know he’s doing the right thing. Jack pulls off his own bag, and the other Newsies imitate him, the cloth bags trampled heedlessly underfoot.

Jack yanks open the gate to the World’s circulation office, and the Newsies rush out with wild abandon. Even Crutchie has a spring in his step as they pour out, leaving the shocked Delanceys behind.

Jack goes for the ladder to the newsboard, and Davey follows. He makes it up just in time to see the man who writes the headlines shove Jack back into the railing. He grabs Jack’s arm, trying to stop a fistfight on top of the narrow platform, and to his surprise Jack yields to him easily, letting Davey step past him.

“Hey, let us have the chalk.” Davey says. “We don’t want to fight you for it, but we are going to make our voices heard.”

The man laughs rudely and lashes out, catching Davey in the shoulder.

He stumbles back, surprised, and Jack lunges for the man with a snarl, wrestling the chalk from the man’s hand with brute force. The man slumps back, clutching his injured fingers.

Jack drags the chalk over the board in huge, sweeping letters.

STRIKE


	5. Katherine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Newsies prepare to spread word of the strike, a new player is introduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said no Katherine hate, and I stand by that. However, she makes a pretty poor first impression in this chapter on Davey and Jack both. I promise she gets better! I've got some really good stuff planned for her once she and Davey get over this rocky start.

The Newsboys below are practically a riot already, the word emblazoned on the board only serving to inflame their passion.

Davey gripped Les’ shoulder tight as he and Jack rejoined the crowd, the younger boy’s eyes alight.

Now there was just one big task left.

Tell Pulitzer.

The solid double doors of the Pulitzer mansion loomed over Newsie square like a vengeful angel, the windows watching the commotion in the street with judgmental stares.

Jack is standing with Crutchie, their heads bent together as Jack murmurs something to the other boy. Crutchie nods and smiles, patting Jack on the shoulder fondly.

Jack turns to Davey. “You ready.”

“No.” Davey answered immediately. But he gave Jack a fierce grin. “Let’s do it.”

Jack wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and Davey gripped him back just as hard, Les sliding under his other arm, unwilling to be left behind. They marched into Pulitzer’s mansion together, the Newsie’s cheering them on until the huge wooden doors slammed shut.

Davey felt Jack flinch at the sound, and he tightened his hand on Jack’s shoulder in comfort.

The woman behind the desk stands. “What… what are you doing in here, boys?” She asks kindly, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Jack breaks their formation, striding forward. “We’s here to see Mr. Pulitzer, if you please.”

“Oh… do you… do you have an appointment?”

“No.” Jack said. “We’re the Newsboys of Manhattan and we’s here to tell Mr. Pulitzer that WE’S ON STRIKE!” He shouts this last bit at the winding staircase.

The woman blinks at him, but she is given no chance to respond as three men come striding towards the boys.

Davey moves back, trying to pull Les with him, but the men reach them quickly. For a moment, it’s a furious struggle, Jack shouting insults up the stairs, but it’s over quickly.

The doors fling open, and the boys are flung after it. Davey lands hard on his hip, Les tumbling to a stop in the dirt beside him. Jack hits the ground on his right shoulder, and Davey watches a spasm of pain flash across his face.

Les bounced back to his feet, shrieking a final defiance to the doors as they slammed in his face. Davey looked at Jack and received a quick nod in return, his heart easing as Jack’s lips twitched as Les finished his little speech.

Tommy Boy held out a hand for Davey, and he scrambled upright as Albert did the same for Jack. The Newsies surrounded them, alternating between commiseration and congratulation. Davey saw Crutchie press up against Jack, scanning the older boy for injury.

A couple of the boys grabbed Les, swinging him up on their shoulders and taking off down the street, Newsies streaming after them, whooping and hollering. Davey let himself be swept along, one eye on Jack and Crutchie who brought up the rear.

Les’ rides stopped at a little shop that proclaimed itself as Jacobi’s Deli, the boys taking over the joint like they owned it. The owner – presumably Mr. Jacobi – sighed fondly and began filling cups of water in what was clearly an established ritual.

Les and Crutchie were both glued to Jack’s side, so Davey picked the nearest open seat and sank into it with a grateful sigh, taking the water Jacobi handed him.

The boys settled, gulping water. Davey could see the adrenaline fading in front of his eyes and he smirked. “Well, I’d say we started our strike in a most auspicious manner.” He said, raising his glass.

Dead silence. The Newsies looked at each other.

“I don’t know about that.” One said. “But we sure scared the bejeebus out’a Weasel!”

“And did you see the Delancey’s?” Crutchie laughed. “They didn’t know which way was up!”

Jack stood on the table, raising his hands for attention. “So, what’s next?”

“Now we have to spread the word.” Davey said without hesitation. “Let the rest of the city’s Newsies know about the strike.”

“Hey you heard the man.” Jack called out. “Let’s split up, spread the word.”

Voices piped up like popcorn.

“I’ll take Harlem!”

“I’ve got Midtown!”

“I got the Bronx!”

“And I got the Bowery!”

“Uh, Specs, you take Queens.” Jack pointed. “Tommy Boy, take the East Side. And who wants Brooklyn.”

Every Newsie instantly ducked under their cap, or barring that, hid behind an arm or a chair or a water glass. Even Les tucked his head, copying the others.

“Oh, come on.” Jack groaned. “Brooklyn. Spot Conlon’s turf.” No response. No one so much as twitched. “Finch!” Jack called out eventually. “You telling me youse scared of Brooklyn?”

“I ain’t scared of no turf!” Finch protested.

“Okay then…” Jack started.

“But that Spot Conlon gets me a little jittery.” Finch finished.

“Ugh.” Jack scoffed. “Me and Davey’ll take Brooklyn.”

Wait what? “Me! No!” Davey was looking at Jack, so he almost missed the ding of the diner’s bell.

“Why is everyone so scared of Brooklyn?” A feminine voice asked.

The Newsies turned as one to ogle. Jack huffed.

Davey took in the fiery-haired girl. She was finely dressed, clearly several social classes above anything a Newsie could hope to attain. She even put Davey and Les to shame and they already stood out with their clean, well-made clothes against the Newsie’s rough, stained, patched, ill-fitting garb. She had an air of excitement about her that was almost greedy, like she was seeing a prize at the carnival that she couldn’t wait to win.

This girl was going to be trouble.

“What are you doing here?” Jack asked.

The girl looked at him, obviously picking him out as the leader. “Asking a question. Have you got an answer?”

Jack scoffed. “Brooklyn is the sixth largest city in the entire world. You got Brooklyn, you hit the mother lode.” He eyed her up and down, sizing her up. “What’s your interest, miss…?”

“Katherine. Katherine, uh, Plumber. Reporter with the New York Sun.”

Davey’s eyes narrowed.

Jack smirked. “What’s a Sun reporter doing hanging around the World?”

“Following a story.” Katherine said. “A ragtag gang of ragamuffins wants to take on the kingmakers of New York?” She surveyed the room. “Well, do you think you have a chance?”

Davey could have cheerfully throttled her. Who did she think she was, this entitled rich girl coming to gawk at the street kids? Was this a game to her? Their lives on the line and she was chasing a story?”

Jack was clearly upset. “Oh, shouldn’t you be at the ballet?” He sneered.

“Is the question too difficult?” Katherine said sweetly. “I’ll rephrase. Will the richest and most powerful men in New York give the time of day to a gang of kids who haven’t got a nickel to their name?”

Crutchie piped up. “Hey, you don’t gotta be insultin’.”

Katherine spun around to face him, and Davey watched her face as she took in the crooked leg and the rough crutch. For the first time since she’d barged into the diner, Davey thought she looked kind.

Crutchie, perceptive as always, gave her a coy grin. “I got a nickel.”

Katherine huffed a laugh, relaxing. “So, I guess you’d say you’re a couple of Davids looking to take on Goliath.”

“We never said that.” Davey finally spoke up, unable to keep his mouth shut any longer. He found himself surprisingly protective of these boys for how short a time he’d known them, and he wasn’t going to let anyone – not even some girl reporter – give them any grief.

“Well, you didn’t have to.” Katherine answered, turning to him. “I did.”

Jack interrupted. “Ya know, I’ve seen a lot of papes in my day, and I ain’t never noted no girl reporters writing the hard news.”

Katherine’s eyes sparked as she brushed by Davey to face Jack down. “Well, wake up to the new century! The game’s changing.”

Jack looked unimpressed.

Katherine turned back to the room at large. “Now, how about an exclusive interview?”

Jack wasn’t done. “Ain’t your beat entertainment?”

“This is entertaining.” Katherine said. “So far.”

Davey’s hands balled into fists.

Jack sneered. “Hey, so what’s the last news story you wrote?”

“What’s the last strike you organized?” She wasn’t one to back down, Davey had to give her that. He’d seen many a lesser person tuck tail and run when Jack gave them that look.

Romeo laughed, jumping up. “You’re out of your league, Kelly! Methinks the lady needs to be handled by a real man.”

Katherine looked disgusted. “You thinks wrong, Romeo.”

The other Newsies jeered Romeo, but Davey had had quite enough. He marched up to Katherine.

“I’d say we save any exclusive for a real reporter.”

He saw a flash of hurt, carefully hidden, before she rallied. “Do you see somebody else giving you the time of day?” She snapped. A moment later, she deflated with a sigh. “All right, so I’m just busting out of the social pages, but…” She looked at Davey, but she could clearly read that he wasn’t ready to let her off the hook yet. She turned to Jack instead. “you give me the exclusive, let me run with the story, and I promise I’ll get you the space.”

Crutchie hobbled to Davey’s side. “You really think we could be in the papes?”

“Well, shut down a paper like ‘The World’?” Katherine said softly. “You’re gonna make the front page.”

That clearly excited the Newsies, although they sent their anxious glances to Jack, clearly willing to follow his lead.

Jack looked at Davey over Katherine’s shoulder, his eyes questioning.

Davey shrugged, then nodded. Getting in the paper would certainly help further their cause, and Katherine might be abrasive, but she was also clearly good at getting what she wanted. He also suspected a kinder heart than her bravado would suggest. She reminded him of Jack that way.

Jack stepped to meet Katherine. “You want a story? Be at the circulation gate tomorrow mornin’, and you’ll get one.”

A delighted smile spread over her face.

Jack brushed past her. “Oh, and bring your camera.” He tossed out as he walked away. “You’re gonna wanna snap a picture a’ this!” He gave Davey a grin that lit up the entire room, clasping his forearm in celebration before turning to include Crutchie as well.

The Newsies erupted, all talking excitedly at once until a long-suffering Jacobi tossed them out. It didn’t dampen their spirits one bit, with the boys practically racing back towards the lodging house. Jack, who had always been a tactile guy, couldn’t seem to stop reaching out for them. Squeezing Crutchie’s good shoulder, bumping arms with Specs, slapping Race and Albert across the back, ruffling Les’ hair. Putting his hand on Davey’s back, where Davey could feel the warmth of it all the way down to his bones.

When they reached the lodging house, all the younger Newsies were herded inside by those who didn’t have assignments, and the rest of them split of to spread the word.

Jack grinned at Davey, the joy in his eyes lighting up Davey’s entire world. “Ready to go face Brooklyn?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Davey managed to say.

“Aww, don’t be scared.” Jack laughed. “Spot Conlon ain’t the monster he pretends to be.”

But that wasn’t why Davey had choked on the words. He just thought ‘I’ll go anywhere with you’ might have been too obvious. But it was true, and today had only made that more and more clear. Davey Jacobs would follow Jack Kelly anywhere, and that was a thought that both terrified and thrilled him.


	6. Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooklyn isn't exactly what Davey expected. The strike begins to feel real to Davey and Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who is following and commenting on this story! I'm so grateful for all the love its getting. This was a completely self-indulgent project and I am so pleased its hitting the spot for so many of you. 
> 
> Also, Sarah exists in this universe because I said so.

They stop by the Jacob’s house to let Mayer and Esther know they’ll be back late. Davey doesn’t say anything about the strike yet, wanting to wait until he can have the whole conversation at once, but it’s clear his parents sensed something.

“Its fine, Ma. I promise.” Davey assures her with a gentle smile. “We’ll be back soon, and I’ll explain everything.”

Esther looked unconvinced, but she pressed several sandwiches into his hand, glancing out the window to where Jack and Les stood waiting by the streetlamp. “Here. Feed that poor boy.”

Davey kissed her cheek. “Thanks Ma. Be back soon!”

He hurried down the stairs, Jack straightening to meet him. “Here.” Davey said, passing him one of the sandwiches and giving another to Les. “Ma made us some food.”

Jack looked startled as he took the snack, his eyes wide as the soft bread gave under his fingers. He glanced up at the window, his ears going pink. “Uh, youse tell your ma thank you, eh?”

“I will.” Davey said softly.

They ate the food as they made their way to the Brooklyn Bridge, Davey trying not to let his heart break at the clear pleasure Jack displayed as he ate the simple sandwich. He wondered if Esther would be willing to make an extra when she packed Davey and Les lunch from now on.

Les skips ahead, still hyper from the rush of the day. It leaves Jack and Davey to walk in step behind him. Jack seems in no real hurry, and even Davey has to admit he’s enjoying himself. The sky is clear and dry, with just a hint of evening coolness as the sun melts towards the horizon.

Around them, businessmen scurry home in their ties and dress shoes, and Davey realizes with a start that on any other day, there would be a dozen newsies chasing them down to sell the evening paper. The reality of the strike hits him out of nowhere, and he looks around in awe.

Jack catches his gaze. “Awfully quiet, ain’t it.”

“Yeah.” Davey says, hushed. “I almost can’t believe that we did it.”

Jack snorts. “We ain’t done nothin’ yet, Davey. If we don’t shows up to work tomorrow, a hundred scabs’ll show up in our place. If we actually want to change anything, we need to make a real statement. Something they can’t ignore.”

“Spot will help us.” Davey says confidently. “He’ll understand why it’s important.”

Jack sighed. “I sure hope so.”

Jack called Les back as they reached the end of the Brooklyn Bridge, and less than ten steps later the brothers found out why as about twenty burly teenagers seemed to appear out of thin air, surrounding the trio. They stared, silent, their arms crossed.

Davey gulped.

Jack’s shoulders were tensed, but otherwise he was keeping himself deliberately relaxed, and Davey tried to do the same. He kept a hand on Les’ shoulder, ready to push the younger boy behind him if he needed to.

The boys in front of Jack parted, and someone stepped into the circle.

“Jack Kelly. What business do you have in Brooklyn?”

Davey blinked. Spot Conlon – for it could be no other – was not quite what he’d expected. For one, although Spot was as well-muscled as his crew, he was short. Davey admitted he’d been expecting someone who looked as mean as his reputation, but Spot had an open, honest face.

The two Newsie leaders were squared off, eyes locked as they battled for dominance.

“Manhattan is on strike on account of the price increase.” Jack began.

Spot nodded once. “I heard the news.”

“Youse and your boys is affected to. Every Newsie in the city is. The price change means a rougher winter for all of us, and we intend to put a stop to it.”

Spot watched Jack carefully. “You’re here to ask for my help. You want Brooklyn behind you when you strike.”

“Yeah.” Jack admitted. “We’s all in, but we’s isn’t enough. You and your boys could help us turn the tide.”

“Please?” Les added, blinking up at the Brooklyn leader.

Spot looked left and right, sizing up his boys. “I think you’re doing a noble thing, Jack Kelly.”

“Well thank you.”

“It’s also stupid.”

Jack snorted indignantly, but Spot remained firm.

“Pulitzer, Hearst, the others. They can really throw their weight around, and they have a lot of it. If I commit my boys to this fight, what guarantee do I have that Manhattan won’t turn tail and run at the first sign of resistance?”

“Hey.” Jack protested. “We ain’t gonna do that!”

Spot shrugged, and Davey saw genuine regret in his eyes. “I’m sorry Jack. You know as well as I do, I gotta protect my boys first.”

Jack turned away, his shoulders slumping. Davey wanted to reach out in comfort, but he was fairly certain it wouldn’t be welcomed at the moment.

“Kelly.” Spot said.

Jack looked up.

“If you need us… when you need us,” Spot said quietly, “we will come.”

Jack nodded. “I can respect that.”

They did a spit shake, and Spot and his boys melted back into the shadows of Brooklyn, leaving the Manhattan trio standing alone.

Davey sighed. “Maybe the others had more luck?”

Jack looked into the distance, his face haunted. “Maybe. But without Spot… Davey, our odds just went way down. I don’t want anyone getting hurt over this. Maybe we should call it off.”

“No way!” Les piped up. “We can’t stop now!”

The corner of Jack’s mouth curled, and he nudged Les’ cap. “Ok, kid.”

“He’s right.” Davey said, finally giving into the urge to lay a hand on Jack’s shoulder, making sure to telegraph his movements. “It is scary, and I wish we had gotten Brooklyn to commit, but we can’t stop this just because we’re scared. If we back down now, no ones going to listen to us ever again. And then what’s to stop them from raising the prices again a few weeks from now? We’ve set this into motion now, Jack. We have to see it through.”

Jack smiled sadly. “Youse right, Davey. Of course you are. I’m glad you’re with me.”

Davey smiled back. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He promised fervently.

The walk back to the Jacob’s was a rather more somber affair, even Les dragging his feet a bit.

Jack had slipped into a pensive mood, clearly worried about the coming morning. Davey wished he knew what to say to comfort the other boy. He might have been suddenly promoted to a leadership role in this strike, but Jack had been the leader of the Manhattan Newsies for years. Each and every one of those boys was his family. Davey thought about putting Les in danger and felt his mouth go dry. How much worse was it for Jack, who had the futures of dozens of little brothers resting on the outcome of tomorrow?

As soon as they reached the tenement building, Les dashed up the stairs, clearly eager to tell their parents all about the day.

Davey hesitated. “Jack?” The other boy didn’t seem to hear him. “Jack?” He tried again, reaching for him.

His hand brushed Jack’s sleeve, and the Newsie flinched away violently.

“Jack!” Davey cried. “I’m sorry!”

“No, no.” Jack said, calming, although Davey could see the traces of panic he was quickly hiding away. “Sorry, I was off somewhere else.”

“I’ll say.” Davey answered, his own heart still racing. “Jack, are you okay?”

Jack laughed, short and quick. “Yeah, Davey. I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Jack…”

“Get some sleep.” Jack said gently, turning away. “Youse gonna need it.”

Davey watched Jack walk away, his heart aching. “Jack?”

The Newsie turned.

“See you tomorrow?”

Jack smiled. “For sure.”

Les was already deep into the story by the time Davey entered the tenement, Esther and Mayer clearly wavering between pride and fear as they learned what their sons had been up to. Davey knew he was going to have to deal with that soon, but he was grateful to escape to his room first, setting down his things with a weary sigh.

“He’s cute.”

Davey jumped. His sister laughed, leaning on the doorway.

“Don’t do that!” Davey scolded, his heart racing for the second time in minutes.

Sarah smirked. “Lost in thought, little brother?”

Davey hummed distractedly, tugging his shoes off. His eyes wander unconsciously to the window, glancing after Jack.

Sarah follows his gaze. “That was the boy who helped you and Les out yesterday, right? Jack something?”

“Kelly.” Davey answered. “Jack Kelly, yeah.”

Sarah tilted her head, studying his face.

Davey felt his cheeks heat.

“Oh David.” Sarah murmured.

“What?” He tried to avoid her gaze.

Sarah walked across the room and plopped down on the bed, patting the blankets beside her until Davey gave in and joined her. He leaned his head on her shoulder, letting Sarah tangle their fingers together. She smelled of the lavender laundry soap she and Esther had been using all day. Davey breathed it in gratefully, basking in her gentle presence.

“You’re in love with him.” Sarah said, finally.

There was no point denying it to her. “Yeah.” He admitted huskily.

“Is he?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

They sat in silence for a long moment.

“So, a strike?”

Davey huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Crazy huh.”

Sarah slipped her shoulder free, angling to face him. “You know it is, David Jacobs. What were you thinking, getting you and Les caught up in something like that? You’ve seen what happened to the trolley workers.”

“It’s not going to be like that, Sarah.” Davey tried to assure her. “We’re kids. They aren’t gonna beat us up.”

“You don’t know that.”

Davey shrugged helplessly. “Sarah, I can’t let them face this alone.”

She searched his face again, her eyes sad. “Oh, little brother. You really love him.”

To his horror, Davey felt his lip quiver.

Sarah pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around his taller frame, holding him like he was six years old again, small enough to fit in her lap. “I’m scared, Sarah.” He whispered, pressing wet eyes into her shoulder.

“I know, David. I know.”


	7. Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Newsies make their stand alone. For a moment, Davey thinks they just might pull it off.

The day of the strike dawned clear and cool. Davey rolled out of bed with a groan. His eyes were gritty, his muscles heavy with the weight of the sleep he hadn’t gotten. After his breakdown in Sarah’s arms, he’d still had to go out and face his parents.

Mayer had been understandably concerned about the lost income, while Esther had been panicked about her boys getting caught up in an ugly fight. Explaining everything to them had taken a good long time, and Davey still half-expected Esther to keep Les home today.

Once he had finally gone to bed, Davey had tossed and turned, his own fears of what the strike would bring playing out behind his eyes. It felt like he had no sooner closed his eyes then Les was shaking him awake, the sun staining the dirty sky with streaks of color.

Esther hovered in the kitchen as the brothers scarfed down their meager breakfast. Davey found it even harder to eat than it had been on his first day as a Newsie, such a very short time ago.

“Take care of your brother.” Esther begged for the dozenth time.

“I will.” Davey promised again.

Sarah gave him a comforting smile as she moved past, squeezing his shoulder.

“David.” Mayer said, appearing in the doorway.

David’s mouth went dry. “Pops?”

Mayer jerked his head, and Davey rose, joining his father in his parent’s tiny bedroom. Mayer studied him for a long moment, and Davey tried to stand tall and confident, channeling Jack’s easy manner as best he could with his throat tied in knots.

“I’m proud of you, David.” Mayer said eventually.

“Wha… what?” Davey sputtered, shocked.

Mayer shook his head fondly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not happy that you and your brother are going out there to face who knows what today. But whatever happens, you made the choice to stand up for what is right, and that’s something no one can take away. Win or lose today, you have proven yourself a man of character, David Jacobs.”

Davey blinked hard. “Thank you, pops.” He croaked.

Mayer held out his good arm, and Davey melted into his embrace in a way he hadn’t in years.

With his father’s blessing still sweet on his tongue, Davey and Les left the tenement and headed once again for Newsie square.

The very air felt different today. Instead of the antics of dozens of Newsies, Davey and Les met only a few boys trudging quietly to the circulation center. Those who knew them nodded and said soft hellos, Davey trying his best to give them encouraging smiles.

The gate rose up forbiddingly before them, an anxious Jack pacing back and forth, surrounded by a half dozen of his crew. Davey surveyed the small crowd with dismay. Les darted from his side to join Jack, who relaxed at the sight of the brothers and leaned wearily on the gate.

“Is anyone else coming?” Davey asked Jack.

“I got no clue.” Jack shrugged.

Race stepped up to Jack’s other side. “Well, youse seen Spot Conlon, right? Well, what did he say?”

“Yeah, sure, we seen him.” Jack admitted.

“Him and about twenty of his gang.” Davey contributed.

“And them Brooklyn boys is big.” Les piped up, unwilling to be left out.

Jack turned to face Race. “And I gotta say, Spot was very impressed. Wasn’t he?” He asked Davey.

“I’d say.” Davey nodded.

“All right, so they’re with us?”

Davey answered Race, “That all depends on how you look at it. If you look and see Brooklyn, then they’re with us.”

“Yeah,” Jack said wryly, “they wanted proof that we weren’t gonna fold at the first sign of trouble.”

“Are we?” One of the other Newsies asked, joining them.

“We are not, no!” Jack replied firmly. “There’s us, there’s Harlem…”

“Well, not so fast, boss.” Another boy came up. “Harlem wants to know what Brooklyn’s going to do.”

It was the same with all the districts, apparently. Davey understood Jack’s mood last night much better now that he saw the reality of Spot’s choice in the cold light of day.

Manhattan was standing alone.

And, to make everything just that much better, the Delancey brothers chose that moment to reach the gate.

“Hey Oscar,” The one called Morris jeered, “it looks like we got bum information about a strike happenin’ here today. Not that I’m complaining. I know my skull-busting arm could use a day of rest!”

“Hey. Are you done?” Jack snapped.

Les took a step into the square. “Are we doing the right thing?” He asked in a small voice.

Davey thought of his father’s blessing. Sarah’s understanding. His mother’s raw hands. The pleasure Jack had taken in a simple sandwich. He gathered his courage. “Sure we are.” He put a hand on Les’ shoulder.

“Maybe we should put this off a few days.” Race said nervously.

“No!” Davey said firmly. “We cannot just put this off! Jack, they are not…” Newsies brushed past him, and Davey knew they weren’t listening. Davey might be Jack’s right hand man for the union, but it wasn’t Davey the Newsies trusted with their lives. He strode up to Jack. “Say something. Tell ‘em if we back off now, they will never listen to us again!”

Jack nodded. “Hey, hey! We can’t back down now, all right? No matter who does or doesn’t show. You like it or not, now is when we take a stand.”

“How’s about we just don’t show up for work?” One of the Newsies asked. “That’ll send a message.”

“No!” Jack answered. “They’ll just replace us. They need to see us stand our ground.”

The tide was shifting, if only slightly. Davey marveled once again at the power Jack didn’t even realize he had.

“Hey Jack, look what I made!” Crutchie exclaimed, hobbling through the gate with a half dozen other boys. He held out a piece of scrap fabric he’d attached to his crutch. It had been crudely painted with STRIKE in blocky black letters. “Good, huh? STRIKE!”

Davey saw Jack really smile for the first time since Spot’s refusal.

“Oh, that’s great!” Race said sarcastically. “That’s pitiful.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge.” Les offered. “Maybe Pulitzer will see it out his window and feel sorry for us.”

It was getting late. Jack looked up to the tower. “Hey, Specs. Any sign of reinforcements?” He called up.

Specs made a show of checking each direction before shrugging helplessly back.

There was fear, resignation, panic all around them as the Newsies stood alone.

“Davey, Davey come on.” Jack said.

Davey stood with him, a united front. “My father always said, ‘courage can’t erase our fear, courage is when we face our fear’. I know we don’t feel like there are enough of us to win this, but we are too proud to back down now. Now is the time, for us, for all of our brothers who didn’t show up today, we have to start this fight.”

The circulation bell rang.

“We doing this?” Crutchie asked Jack quietly.

“Yeah.” The Newsie leader answered, putting his arm around the younger boy.

Davey pulled Les close, and felt Jack wrap an arm around him on the other side. The other Newsies joined them, a barricade forming in front of the gate. Adrenaline was flowing now, the Newsies spurring each other on.

With a last squeeze of Davey’s shoulder, Jack stepped forward to stand alone. The Newsies closed ranks behind them, Crutchie giving Davey a nervous smile.

Wiesel emerged from the circulation booth. “The sun is up, the birds are singing, it’s a beautiful day to crack some heads! Ain’t it.”

Jack stood quietly, waiting.

Wiesel’s voice went low and threatening. “Step right up and get your papes.”

“Are you workin’ or trespassin’?” Morris sneered. “What’s your pleasure?”

A handful of boys emerged from the crowd, lining up at the box.

“Who are they?” Davey cried.

“Scabs!” Jack answered angrily.

“Oh, they think they can just waltz in here and take our jobs?” A few of the Newsies yelled.

“We can handle ‘em!” Crutchie snarled.

“Let’s soak ‘em, boys!” Several voices called.

Davey stepped forward. “No! No, no, we all stand together!” He shouted desperately, making eye contact with as many boys as he could. “Or we don’t have a chance! Jack!”

“Yeah, I know.” Jack said reassuringly. “I hear ya.”

He turned to the boys, who stood clutching their papers uncertainly, facing the wall of angry boys between them and the exit. “Fellas, I know someone put youse up to this. Oh yeah, they probably paid you some extra money, too, huh? Yeah, well it ain’t right. Pulitzer thinks we are gutter rats. With no respect for nothin’, including each other. Is that who we are, huh? Well, we stab each other in the back and yeah, that’s who we are.”

The scabs glanced at each other uncertainly. Davey held his breath.

Jack softened. “But if we stand together? We can change the whole game! And it ain’t just about us!” Jack’s voice rose, filled with passion. “Yeah, all across the city, there are boys and girls who oughta be out playing or going to school! Instead they are slavin’ to support themselves and their folks! Ain’t no crime to being poor. No, not a one of us complains if the work we do is hard.”

He fell back a step, turning to Crutchie. “All we ask is a square deal!”

Crutchie nodded.

Jack turned back, his voice pleading. “For the sake of all the kids in every sweatshop, factory, and slaughterhouse in this city, I beg you throw down your papers. And join the strike.”

Silence fell.

Davey swallowed hard, watching the tense line of Jack’s shoulders.

It was Les who moved, finally, stepping forward to stand at Jack’s side. He looked at the scabs. “Please?”

A beat, and then one of them strode forward. Jack slipped sideways, covering Les as Davey hauled him back into the line. He saw Crutchie flinch forward as the scab got right up in Jack’s face, the Newsie leader’s fists curling in anticipation.

The scab stopped. A moment, and then his papers hit the ground. “I’m with ya!”

The Newsies cheer.

The other scabs look at one another, and in short order all the papers are discarded, the former scabs joining the Newsie’s line to a chorus of welcome.

With that, the strike is officially on.

Wiesel and the Delanceys paced angrily behind the stand, but they were vastly outnumbered and they knew it. Les grabbed one of the scabs discarded stacks and pulled a newspaper free, laying it down before stepping on it, his dirty shoes leaving smears across the crisp white paper. Crutchie laughed and joined him, stepping on the other side of the paper and pulling his foot back so it tore into two ragged pieces.

Several of the other Newsies caught on, and in moments the square was full of the sounds of ripping paper and flying newsprint, the boys laughing manically as they destroyed Pulitzer’s precious stock.

In the chaos, Davey lost sight of Les until he heard a shriek. He whirled in horror to see Morris and Oscar gripping his little brother between them, intent on dragging him away. Davey took off, but Jack was closer. He went for Les, trying to break the boy free, but Morris shoved himself between them. Jack aimed a punch with his right hand, but Morris was at a bad angle and his shoulder couldn’t seem to bend right to be effective. The blow went wide, Morris easily blocking it and striking back while Jack was open, sending the Newsie leader sprawling.

Davey reached them in the same second, diving for Les and getting his own face busted for his trouble. He reeled back, the other Newsies shouting behind him. Oscar scooped Les up, slinging the boy over his shoulders and trying to move off while Jack and Davey recovered.

Davey shook off the blow as quick as he could, the other Newsies blocking Morris long enough for him to wrestle Les away from the older Delancey. Almost as soon as Les was free, Oscar was surrounded by Newsies, who quickly corralled him back to back with his brother. The Delanceys put up a fierce fight, but it only took a minute for them to be subdued. Jack took a last punch to Morris himself, sending the Delancey brother scrambling for cover.

They were flush with victory now, the buzz of the brief fight like lightning in their veins.

“Everybody get together!” Someone yelled, and Davey had just enough time to spot Katherine across the square before he was yanked up beside Jack on a hill of newspapers.

Newsies rushed to squeeze in, posing beside them. In the moment before the flash went off, staring into Jack’s sunset eyes, Davey thought ‘this is a moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life’.


	8. Defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything falls apart. Davey reels in the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy your last (mostly) canon compliant chapter! While I'll still be following the general outline of the musical, everything gets a new twist starting at the end of this chapter. Which means a lot more Davey and Jack scenes are coming right up!

The moment after the flash is when everything fell apart.

The Newsies had dived back into their gleeful destruction, wads of ripped paper tossed around like confetti. Even Katherine was getting into it, laughing as Jack showered her in a rain of newsprint.

And then Davey saw them. They came quietly, small groups suddenly there, blocking the exits until the Newsies were hemmed into the courtyard, rats in a trap.

Crutchie saw him looking. His face paled, and he nudged the boy next to him. That boy alerted the next, and on and on until they all stood silent.

Snyder’s mouth twisted into an awful grin, and he pointed his club at Jack before slamming it into the metal gate.

That was the cue, because suddenly everything was pandemonium. Snyder and the goons rushed towards the boys, who scattered in all directions, trying to find an escape.

There was none. They were trapped.

Snyder stalked forward, his eyes on Jack. The Newsie leader stopped. Jack’s eyes were wild, his chest heaving, but he stood with his head tall. “Newsies!” Jack cried, rallying. “GET ‘EM!”

Davey didn’t know where to look. Newsies and goons alike fell to vicious blows, the smack of fist or bat or club hitting flesh coming from all directions. It was quick and brutal and dirty fighting of the kind Davey had never seen in his life.

He caught a glimpse of Katherine pressing herself against the wall, her face horrified. Crutchie tripped a goon with his crutch. A few boys rolled one of the wagons towards a group of goons, scattering them. Race went down under a savage blow, rolled himself over, and jumped back in swinging.

Jack was a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye, darting into fights left and right to assist any Newsie who was in trouble. Davey saw him reach for something near the wagon and come up with Les, who Jack promptly dumped into a barrel, saying something sternly to the boy.

Davey headed that way, desperate to get his brother out of harm’s way. He was so overwhelmed he almost didn’t duck in time as Snyder swung at him with a solid wooden club. Jack, seeing him cornered, yelled out, distracting Snyder long enough for Davey to reach the barrel. Now, if he could only get Les to the edge of the courtyard… oh!

“Les, protect your head!” He shouted into the mouth, tipping the barrel on its side. He took aim and rolled the barrel towards the stand, forcing several goons to leap out of its path.

The barrel landed at Jack’s feet, and to Davey’s relief, Jack yanked Les free and gave him a shove towards freedom before lifting the now-empty barrel and launching it towards a knot of goons, knocking several of them down like bowling pins.

More than half of the Newsies were down, about a fourth had managed to flee altogether by Davey’s estimate, when a shrill whistle sounded.

“It’s about time you showed up!” Elmer shouted, hurrying up to the approaching officers with relief. “They’re slaughtering us!”

Something wasn’t right. Davey watched in horror as the cop raised his arm and backhanded Elmer hard enough to send the boy skidding back several feet. The kid lay stunned, not even trying to rise, and Davey felt hot anger rise in his throat.

Jack screamed something Davey couldn’t hear, grabbing several Newsies and pushing them towards escape. It was the right idea, the only idea now. With the cops added to the enemy, the Newsies were hopelessly outnumbered. Better to get out and regroup than end up in jail or worse.

Race and Albert scooped up Les and Smalls, herding as many of the younger Newsies as they could out of the gate. Jack was darting here and there, helping Newsies detangle themselves from the fighting long enough to get away. Davey had barely turned to look for his own exit when his face exploded in pain.

He shoved aside whoever had hit him blindly, clutching his cheek. He blinked hard, trying to clear his watering eyes.

And then he heard Crutchie. “Jack! Wait for me!”

The Delancey brothers had Crutchie between them, pulling the struggling boy towards the line of cops.

Jack was nowhere to be seen, lost somewhere in the chaos.

Davey was too far away.

Crutchie put up a good fight, almost managing to wrestle free of the brothers until Snyder loomed over him, snatching his crutch. Davey winced as Snyder slammed the crutch into Crutchie’s side, once, twice, three times, laughing as Crutchie begged.

“Take him away!” Snyder yelled.

And then Davey heard a sound he never wanted to hear again. Jack, his voice anguished. “Crutchie!”

“Jack help!” Crutchie called back.

It was too late.

But Crutchie had never been the prize Snyder wanted, and Jack’s scream had given him away to the spider.

“Kelly!” Snyder roared.

The last thing Davey saw was Jack, fleeing into the city, Snyder in hot pursuit.

Then one of the boys grabbed him by the collar and tugged him along until he got his feet under him, and they were running, running, running all the way back to the lodging house.

Boys straggled in for the better part of an hour. Race and Albert take roll, Specs and a few helpers tending to injuries as they come in. Kloppman passes out clean cloths and chips of ice to anyone who needs them, his face grave. Davey had tried to help, but Race had given him a sad smile and pushed him into a chair, depositing Les into his lap a moment later.

Davey clutched his little brother, burying his face in Les’ soft hair and trying to remember how to breathe. His cheek ached; his knuckles raw from blows he didn’t remember landing. Les’ arm was in a sling. One of Race’s eyes was swollen shut, Albert was limping, one of the lenses was cracked in Spec’s glasses. Smalls was crying softly in the corner, and she wasn’t the only one.

And everyone, each and every one of them, tried to pretend they weren’t sneaking glances at the door every few seconds.

There was no sign of Jack.

The downstairs cleared out slowly, Race and Albert sending the Newsies upstairs to clean up, rest, and comfort each other. Soon, it was just Race, Albert, Davey, and Les sitting in exhausted misery. Les’ head was heavy on Davey’s shoulder, his little brother fast asleep.

Race leaned against the wall heavily, closing his good eye. “That’s everyone accounted for ‘cept Jack and Crutchie.” He said wearily.

Oh. Davey looked up, his chest tight with sorrow. “Snyder and the Delancey’s got Crutchie.” He told Race sadly. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t reach him in time.”

Albert swore.

Race went white as a sheet. “Crutchie got taken to the Refuge?”

Davey nodded. “I’m sorry, Race.”

“Did Jack see it?” Race asked, his voice tight. Albert put a hand on Race’s arm, and Davey realized the boy was shaking out of his skin.

“Yeah.” Davey whispered, closing his eyes against the memory of Jack’s anguished scream. “He saw it.”

Race whimpered.

“We’ll find him, Racetrack.” Albert said softly, pulling the other boy to him. “He’ll be okay.”

Davey held Les tighter, his heart aching at the thought of what Jack was going through.

Kloppman came in a moment later. “Racetrack, I think it’s best the boys all stay inside for the rest of the day.” He said quietly. “The word is spreading fast on the streets and we don’t want any of the boys getting caught out there alone with Snyder on the hunt.”

Davey sat bolt upright. “Oh no! My parents! They’ll have heard about what happened now. They’ll be worried sick!”

Albert nodded. “Take Les home, Davey. You know the safe route Jack showed you?”

“Yeah.” Davey breathed, shaking Les awake. “Are you guys sure you’ll be okay?”

Albert gave Davey a crooked smile, tightening his arms around Race. “Go home, Davey. There’s nothing more you can do here. We’ll figure out our next move in the morning.”

Kloppman let Davey and Les out the back door, and Davey hurried them into the alleyways Jack had shown him, neatly skirting any main road where Snyder might have goons posted to catch an unsuspecting Newsie.

Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the tenement door, hurrying Les up the stairs and into the safety of the Jacobs’ apartment.

All three of the elder Jacobs leapt to their feet as the door opened.

Esther honed in on Les’ arm immediately, leading the exhausted boy towards the bedroom. Sarah gave Davey a relieved smile and went to fetch the medicine kit. Mayer stood, his own injury now eerily mimicking his youngest sons, and walked to Davey.

He reached up for Davey’s face, and Davey flinched, still to keyed up with adrenaline and the terror of what had happened in the square. Mayer stopped, watching him with sad, knowing eyes until Davey managed to relax again.

Only then did Mayer finish his motion, cupping Davey’s swollen cheek in his gentle, calloused hand. “My poor, brave boy.” Mayer whispered.

Davey felt himself start to tremble, the events of the day crashing into him all at once. Mayer pulled him close for the second time that day, holding Davey until the world settled back on its axis.

When Mayer finally released him, Esther kissed his brow and tucked him into the bed he shared with Les, brushing back his hair as he drifted off. He was too exhausted to dream, and he would count that as the blessing it was.

The next morning, Davey wakes to a lovely bruise and a splitting headache. Les is still fast asleep, his injured arm curled close. Davey is careful not to wake him as he slips into the main room on his stocking feet.

Esther is already awake, her face pale with exhaustion. She sees him coming and steps in close, wrapping her arms around him for a long moment.

“Are you going back out there?” She asks him quietly.

Davey holds her tighter. “Yes. I have to ma. I’m a part of this now.”

Esther sighs. “I know. Just… be careful, okay?”

Davey tries hard not to think of Crutchie being dragged away. “I will, ma.”

“At least eat some breakfast first.” Esther says, turning to the stove.

Davey is munching on a piece of toast spread with a bit of the special jam Esther saves for particular occasions when there is a knock at the door.

He sees his own panic reflected in his mother’s eyes. Had the police tracked him here? Was he going to get dragged off to the Refuge in front of his family’s eyes? Was Les?

The knock came again, more insistent, and Davey stood resolutely. If they were coming for him, then he would face it with dignity.

His hand only trembled slightly on the latch. As soon as it fell, the door all but burst open, Katherine Plumber nearly knocking him flat out with the exuberance of her entrance.

“We made the front page!” Katherine shrieked, shoving a newspaper into Davey’s face.


	9. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davey searches for Jack. Katherine and Davey begin to think of ways to continue the strike.

“What?” Davey asked, staring at Katherine. “Wait, how did you find me?”

“I asked Jack where you lived before the strike in case I needed an interview. He didn’t want to give it me but I’m very persuasive.” Katherine said. “But that’s not the point! The point is that the Newsboy’s strike made the front page of the ‘Sun’! We did it!”

Davey finally managed to grab the newspaper from her flailing hands and take a look. Sure enough, He saw his own face, only half turned to the camera as he and Jack stood together atop a mound of destroyed newspaper with their friends all around them.

The beaming smiles made his heart ache at the thought of what had happened minutes after the picture was taken.

Katherine was still talking excitedly. “…and we just have to get Jack to go back to Pulitzer and tell him…”

“Wait!” Davey interrupted. “You’ve seen Jack?”

Katherine stopped. “Don’t you know where he is?”

Davey shook his head. “Snyder chased him off after they got Crutchie, and he never made it back to the lodging house last night.”

“Oh no.” Katherine said quietly. “Davey, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Hey.” Davey put a hand on her arm. “You’re excited, and that’s okay. We did do something amazing yesterday, even if the outcome wasn’t what we’d hoped.”

Katherine gave him a wry smile. “You actually mean that? Cause I distinctly remember you not being impressed with me when we met.”

“You didn’t understand then.” Davey said seriously. “I’m pretty sure you do now.”

She nodded sadly. “Is there anything I can do to help Jack or Crutchie? Or you?”

“I’m not sure anyone can help Crutchie right now. As for Jack… if Snyder had gotten him, he’d have gone straight to the Newsies to rub it in their faces. I’ll check there first. Can you pick up Les and meet us at Jacobi’s later this afternoon? I’ll get the boys there and we can tell them about the pape. Hopefully I can find Jack and get him there too.”

Katherine nodded. “Ok. Be careful. The city’s still buzzing from yesterday.”

Davey shoved the rest of his now-cold toast into his mouth and hurried out the door. The streets of New York, so welcoming just two days ago, now felt foreign and foreboding. Davey tried hard not to look at the street corners where on a normal day his friends would be hawking their papers at full volume.

The atmosphere at the lodging house was subdued. Most of the boys were still sleeping off yesterday’s aches and pains. Kloppman hovered worriedly over the few boys who had made it downstairs to slump over the scarred old dining table.

“Davey!” Cried several of the boys. Albert clapped him on the shoulder. Specs punched him lightly on the other arm. Race gave him a tired nod.

“Les okay?” Specs asked.

“Yeah. Minor sprain, ma says. He’s just tired, mostly.”

“Good.”

“Nice shiner.” Albert studied Davey’s cheek.

“It’s nothing.” Davey dismissed. “I got off easy.”

“Have you heard from Jack?” Race asked, and the room went silent.

Davey shook his head. “You haven’t heard anything?”

“Not since you told us Snyder chased him outta the square.” Race answered anxiously. “It’s not like him to leave us hanging.”

“I’m gonna look for him.” Davey said with more confidence than he really felt. “I have a few ideas of where he might be.”

Race looked relieved.

Davey was almost to the door when he remembered. “Oh, hey Race, guys. Meeting at Jacobi’s this afternoon, okay? We need to talk about what happens next.”

“Next?” Albert asked. “They beat us to a pulp, Davey! If we show our faces in Newsie square they’ll just do it again. There is no next.”

Davey gave them a secretive smile. “I think what you hear at the meeting might change your minds. Just be there, okay?”

It was Race who finally spoke. “Okay Davey. We’ll be there.”

“Thank you.” Davey hurried away before Race could change his mind.

When he’d told the Newsies he had a idea where Jack might be, he hadn’t been completely truthful. Except, in saying it, he’d realized he did have an idea, it just hadn’t occurred to him until that minute.

He’d been with Jack the last time Jack had been chased by Snyder, and Jack had run to the one place he knew was safe, where Snyder couldn’t touch him.

Medda’s.

Even in the middle of the day, the theatre is busy. Half-costumed performers are everywhere, warming up their voices, stretching, or applying layers of make-up and hair ornaments. Davey has no idea how to find Medda in the chaos, but he needn’t have worried. It’s only moments before the lady herself sweeps up to him.

“Davey! I’ve been waiting on you.”

“You have?”

Medda clucks worriedly, reaching up to turn his head so the light catches on his bruised face. “Are you injured anywhere else?”

“No.” Davey reassures her. “I was spared the worst of it.”

“You’ve come for Jack, then?”

Davey feels relief flood him, almost painful in its intensity. “He’s here?”

Medda gives him a sad smile. “He’s through here.”

She leads him into a quieter part of the building, a room stuffed full of elegant costumes hanging in dusty rows. A feeble light shines from the back.

“Jack?” Medda calls softly. “There’s someone here for you.”

There’s no answer.

Medda sighs. “Go easy on him, Davey.” She tells him. “That boy’s been hurt bad, and its not just physical.”

The relief is fading, replaced by a sick dread coiling in Davey’s stomach. He gives Medda a nod of thanks, barely registering her departure as he pushes past the last row of costumes.

The sight of Jack makes his breath catch in his throat.

The Newsie is sitting on a threadbare pallet, knees pulled up to his chest. The left side of his face looks like one of his paintings. There is a piece of paper clutched in his fist. He looks utterly destroyed, a shadow of the boy Davey had first met.

Davey drops to his knees in front of Jack, his heart spasming painfully when Jack flinched at his approach.

“Jacky?” Davey asked, keeping his voice low and soothing. “Hey. What happened?” His hand hovers over the visible bruising. “Are you okay? We’ve been so worried about you.”

Jack swallows, not meeting his eyes. “Why youse here, Davey?” He croaks finally, his voice hoarse.

“I was worried about you.” Davey repeats. “We all were, Snyder chased you off…”

“Oh, thanks for reminding me!” Jack spat.

Davey recoiled at his sudden anger, but Jack wasn’t done.

“Here to yell at me Davey? Huh? Tell me what a coward and a failure I am? Remind me how I let Crutchie…” Jack’s voice cracked horribly, his fist tightening.

Davey glanced down and saw the writing on the letter. It was obvious the author didn’t get the chance to practice writing often, but the signature was clear enough. Crutchie.

“Jack…” Davey said helplessly. “What happened to Crutchie isn’t your fault.”

“What happened?” Jack said, incredulously. “A few love taps by the spider and a soaking from the Delancey’s? We’s all had worse. He’s in the Refuge, Davey! He’s in that horrible place and I’s the one who put him there.” He took a shuddery breath. “I failed him.”

“You didn’t fail anyone, Jack.” Davey said firmly. “We knew the strike was going to be dangerous. We all knew there was a chance some of us would get caught. We did it anyway because it was the right thing to do.”

Jack shook his head. “The right thing don’t matter in the Refuge. They don’t care why youse there, they just wants to beat all the light outta you till it’s gone for good.”

“I’m sure he’ll be okay…”

Jack laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound. “I went to see him last night, soon as I lost Snyder. One of the boys gave me the letter.” He curled impossibly tighter, his voice a broken thing. “Crutchie was beat so bad he couldn’t even come to the window.”

Davey lunged forwards as Jack collapsed, the older boy weeping helplessly. He held the Newsie leader as tight as he could, whispering a prayer into Jack’s hair for these brave, beautiful boys. Jack only cried for a few minutes, but every shuddering sob broke Davey’s heart.

Eventually, Jack pulled back, wiping roughly at his face, his ears pink. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Jack.” Davey assured him softly. “I’m really sorry about Crutchie.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Hey. We’re going to get him back, okay? I have a plan.”

“Do you now?” Jack said, the faintest hint of hope in his voice.

Davey grinned. “Course I do. Come on!”

He stood eagerly and pulled at Jack’s arm to help him up, but Jack had barely started to rise before the Newsie sucked in a sharp breath and froze.

“What?” Davey said, panicked, watching pain flare across Jack’s face.

“I, uh, I think Morris got in a better hit than I’s realized.” Jack said, faintly.

Davey let go of Jack’s arm and reached for his shirt instead, yanking open the buttons.

“Hey!” Jack protested weakly. “Buy a guy dinner first or somethin’.”

Davey paid him no attention, finally removing enough of Jack’s clothing to see the problem. Lurid bruising spread across the right side of Jack’s chest from shoulder to sternum. Davey brushed a hand across Jack’s ribs, feeling the strange movement under his hands.

“I think your ribs are broken.” He informed the Newsie.

“Yeah.” Jack panted. “I was gettin’ that impression too.”

“Can you walk?” Davey asked. “If we can get you to my place, ma can wrap them for you. And I’m pretty sure my bed will be a more comfortable resting place than this pallet.”

“I ain’t kickin’ you outta your bed.” Jack protested weakly.

Davey shrugged. “Not as if I’m going to be using it in the middle of the day.”

Jack surrendered, clearly in too much pain to continue the argument. “Fine. But I’ll be back in the lodging house by tonight.”

“Absolutely.”

Davey helped Jack up, much more carefully this time, and wrapped Jack’s left arm around him. They made their slow, halting way out of the back room, Medda meeting them as they emerged.

“Thanks for everything, Miss Medda.” Jack said.

She cupped his face in her hands, regarding him sadly. “Think nothing of it, my boy. You just focus on you and those Newsboys. You know where I am if you need me.”

He nodded, giving her a weary smile.

Medda patted Davey’s free hand. “You take care of him. He’s a special one.”

Davey looked at Jack fondly. “I know. I will.”


	10. New Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davey puts his new plan into motion, but first he has to convince Jack to keep fighting.

Les ran to the door excitedly as Davey dragged Jack inside, half carrying the older boy. Jack was cradling his ribs, his breath coming in harsh pants from the long walk.

“Jack!”

“Hey buddy.” Jack gave Les a grimace that might have been trying to be a smile. “What happened to your arm?”

“What happened to your body?” Les shot back.

Jack laughed, choked on the pain, and buried his face in Davey’s shoulder helplessly.

“Les,” Davey said, shifting his grip on Jack carefully, “can you go get ma? We need to wrap Jack’s ribs, and then he’s going to be staying a while.”

Les scurried off towards the roof where Esther and Sarah would be in the middle of the day’s laundry.

Davey dragged Jack into the bedroom he and Les shared, dumping him as gently as possible onto the duvet. Jack curled up instantly, breathing slow and shallow.

“Hey.” Davey said quietly. He bent down, putting a hand on the back of Jack’s neck to ground him. “You doing okay?”

Jack hissed through his teeth. “Hurts.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Davey whispered, rubbing his thumb against the fine hairs at Jack’s nape.

He stood at the sound of the door opening, Esther hurrying through.

“Oh, Jack, sweetheart.” Esther said quietly, kneeling. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

Les slipped in, Esther’s medicine basket in one hand. Between Davey holding Jack upright and Esther’s skilled fingers carefully navigating the worst of the damage, they soon had Jack’s ribs bound satisfactorily. Jack was drooping by the end, and Davey hardly had to exert any effort to guide the older boy onto the pillow.

“Sleep, Jacky.” Davey whispered, allowing himself one quick brush of Jack’s soft curls.

Jack was already gone.

When he left the bedroom, Katherine was standing in the kitchen.

“Katherine.”

“Davey. You’re here?”

“Yeah, I brought Jack back to sleep off his injuries.”

“Wait, you found Jack! He’s hurt?”

Davey shushed her. “Yes, I found Jack. He’s asleep now, though. He’s a little banged up, but he’ll be okay, I think. Seeing Crutchie get taken really messed with him, though.”

“Does he need anything?” Katherine asked anxiously, looking towards the bedroom as if she were trying to see through the door.

“Rest. Time.” Davey said sadly. “To win. So, we need to make sure the rest of the boys are ready for when he’s back on his feet.”

“Jacobi’s, then?” Katherine asked.

Davey nodded. “Jacobi’s.”

Les skipped between them, eager to see the other Newsboys. Davey and Katherine were more grim, each lost in their own thoughts of what had happened and what still might lie ahead.

It was a relief to see Jacobi’s, Race’s blond hair clearly visible in the window.

Inside, the Newsboys were sprawled among the tables. They looked even worse than they had this morning, bruised, bandaged, with bloody lips and knuckles. They barely looked up as Davey, Les, and Katherine entered.

“Good morning, gentlemen! Oh, would you get a load of these glum mugs.” Katherine said as they approached, forcing false cheer into her voice. “Wait, can these really be the same boys who made front page of the ‘New York Sun’?”

Suddenly Katherine was swarmed with Newsboys, exclaiming excitedly. Her smile turned from fake to real as Davey watched her congratulate the boys. 

Within moments the boys had dubbed themselves the Kings of New York, prancing around the diner and fantasizing about all the things their newfound fame would get them.

Davey tried to join in as much as he could. He’s in no mood to celebrate, not with Jack and Crutchie still suffering, but he also recognizes the boys need this. Hope. It’s a powerful drug, and he’s grateful beyond words to Katherine for giving it back to them.

It’s Race who finally approaches, sidling up to Davey while the other boys are distracted. “Any word from Jack?”

“I found him.” Davey nodded. “He’s pretty banged up, and he’s awful sore about Crutchie, but he’ll be okay. Stay behind when the rest of the boys leave and you can come see him.”

The bell jangled on Jacobi’s door, and a Newsie Davey recognized entered. It was one of the kids who’d been with Spot Conlon.

“I’m looking for Davey Jacobs?” The Brooklyn Newsie said loudly.

The other Newsboys fell silent, making a path, but Davey noticed several tightened fists and tensed shoulders. Race stood firm at Davey’s side as Spot’s lieutenant approached.

“Spot Conlon says, next time youse hold a strike, Brooklyn is with ya.”

Davey stood. “Then Brooklyn had better be ready. We aren’t backing down.”

The Brooklyn Newsie smiled. “That’s what we was counting on.”

He turned and left as suddenly as he’d come. Davey’s knees gave out, and Race pushed him into a chair, laughing at him. “Your face!”

“I thought he was gonna punch me.” Davey admitted faintly.

“Davey,” Katherine said, her eyes shining, “do you know what this means? We’ve got Brooklyn.”

Race’s face went white. “We’ve got Brooklyn.” He repeated. “We’ve got the whole damn city!”

They sent the boys back to the lodging house with that encouraging thought. The Manhattan Newsies were in much higher spirits than they had been, and Davey was going to take the win.

He, Les, Katherine, and Race headed back to the Jacob’s apartment to secure the next part of their plan. They made a brief stop at Medda’s, and the lady agreed to Davey’s request with enthusiastic consent.

It was an odd bunch that tramped into the Jacob’s home, but Esther merely accepted her sons strange new friends with a gracious smile.

“Mom, this is Race. And this is Kath.” Davey introduced.

“Kath?” Katherine asked, amusedly, as Esther left them to return to the roof.

“Well, yeah.” Davey grinned. “Youse a Newsie now. Youse need a nickname.” He said, affecting the accent.

Race snorted. “That’s the worst accent I’s ever heard. But he’s right. Youse one of us now, fancy as y’are.”

Kath looked torn between offended and pleased, but she was saved from deciding by Jack’s sudden appearance in the doorway.

“Race.”

“Jack!”

Race hesitated, clearly taking in the pained way Jack stood, but the older Newsie opened his arms and Race fell into them.

“I’m okay, Racer.” Jack said softly.

“Crutchie.” Race whimpered.

“I know.” Jack’s arms tightened around him. “We’ll get him back, I promise.”

“I have a plan for that, actually.” Davey said, stepping forward.

“You do.” Jack said flatly.

“Yeah.” Davey said confused. “I told you this morning.”

“Uh huh. And what is this brilliant plan of yours?” Jack said, his voice icy.

“We want to hold a rally.” Davey began uncertainly. “A citywide meeting where every Newsie gets a say and a vote. Smart?”

“Yeah.” Jack said. “Smart enough to get you committed to a padded room.”

“What? Jack, I don’t understand…”

“You think we haven’t done enough damage?” Jack hissed. “Newsie square. Filled to overflowing with failure. Kids hurt, others arrested!”

“Lighten up! No one died!” Davey snapped. He regretted it instantly.

Jack’s face twisted. “Oh! Is that what you’re aiming for?”

Katherine, Race, and Les were looking between the two of them uncertainly. Les hovered next to Davey, Race behind Jack.

“Jack, I didn’t mean…”

“No, no. Go on!” Jack said. “Say whatever you like about me. Ain’t no way I’m putting them kids back in danger.”

“We’re doing something that’s never been done before!” Davey pleaded. “How could that not be dangerous?”

“And Crutchie?” Jack asked, his voice cracking. “What if he don’t make it? Are you… are you willing to shoulder that? For what, half a penny a pape?”

“It’s not about pennies, Jack.” Davey stepped forward, trying to make the Newsie listen. “You said it yourself, my family wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in if my father had a union. This is a fight we have to win!”

“If I wanted a sermon I would show up for church!” Jack spat back.

“Jack.” Race begged softly.

Davey sighed. “Tell me how quitting does Crutchie any good.”

Race gave him a warning look, his eyes wide. Jack’s mouth twisted, but he stayed silent.

“Exactly.” Davey nodded. “So. Here’s how it goes. You’re going back to Pulitzer to let him know we aren’t backing down. Race is going to Brooklyn to get Spot Conlon and his gang. Katherine is going to Medda’s to get the theatre set for the rally tonight, and I am going to the lodging house to fetch our boys and spread the word. Sound good?”

Jack slumped. He glanced around at each of them, his gaze lingering on Race before he finally turned to Davey. “Okay, Davey.” He set his shoulders. “We’s following your lead.”

“Okay.” Davey nodded. “Okay, everyone know your assignments?”

“What’s mine?” Les asked.

Davey laughed. “You can come with me.”

“Okay! Bye Jack, bye Kath, bye Race!”

Race grinned. “Well, you heard the kid. Let’s go!”

Jack was the last to move, and Davey caught his wrist gently as he passed. “Hey, you okay? You changed your tune real fast. What’s going on?”

“Davey, I can’t… I can’t lose anyone else to Snyder.” Jack said quietly, his voice shaking. “You don’t know what it’s like. I have to protect them, Davey.”

“We will.” Davey reassured him. “And we’ll get Crutchie back.”

“I hope so.” Jack said softly, and then he was gone.


	11. Rally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rally doesn't go exactly the way Davey had planned. But when the truth comes out, Davey realizes he may not have known his friends as well as he thought he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chunk of this chapter was actually the first thing I wrote when this story began to shape itself. This is the chapter in which I finally reveal the amazing, heartbreaking headcanon @newsiesquare so kindly let me steal! I'll put a link to that Tumblr post in the notes for next chapter, as I don't want to spoil anything!

Spot Conlon is just as intimidating the second time around.

Davey is just glad Race had prepared him enough that he does the traditional spit-shake without hesitation, not even wincing at the gross sensation. No matter how much he wants to.

Medda is giving a welcome speech, and Davey looks around the packed theatre in awe. Newsies from every district are packed into the space.

“Welcome to my theatre,” Medda finishes, “and your revolution!”

That’s Davey’s cue. “And let’s hear it for Spot Conlon and Brooklyn!”

The theatre erupts as Spot stalks forward. “Newsies united!” He roars.

The cheers go on for a long moment before Spot silences the crowd. “Let’s see what Pulitzer’s gotta say to you now.” He grins.

“Hey Davey?” One of the Manhattan Newsies gets his attention. “Where’s Jack?”

Unfortunately, several others overhear, and within moments a chant has started. “Jack! Jack! Jack! Jack!” The Newsies cheer.

Davey looks to Medda helplessly, but she shakes her head. “Sorry, kid. No sign of him yet.”

He can’t help but be worried. Jack was the best choice to confront Pulitzer, but Davey also knew the old man hadn’t exactly been playing fair during this whole mess. If he’d sent Jack into danger, if something happened to him because of Davey’s plan… Oh. He might have been a bit too hard on Jack, if this was the way the older boy had felt watching Crutchie and the others get hurt.

“Looks like you’re doin’ a solo.” Medda says.

“I can’t!” Davey cries. He can’t do this without Jack.

“Yes, you can.” Medda says firmly.

He looks into her eyes. He sees his own worry reflected there, and he’s reminded that he’s not the only one who loves Jack Kelly. “All right.”

Medda gives his a little shove, and Davey steps onto the stage.

“Newsies of New York!” He waited until the cheering calmed. “Look at what we done. We got Newsies from every pape and every neighborhood here tonight.” He looked at Les, Race, Spot. Specs and Albert and Elmer and Henry. “Tonight, you’re makin’ history. Tonight, we declare that we are just as much a part of the newspaper as any reporter or editor! We are done being treated like kids! From now on, they will treat us as equals! All right!”

The Newsies clapped enthusiastically.

“You wanna be talked to like an adult?”

Jack. Oh, thank heavens.

“Start acting like one.” Jack continues. His face is set. “Don’t just run your mouth. Make some sense.”

He pushes past Davey into the center of the stage.

“And here’s Jack!” Davey says, his head spinning. Something is wrong. Something is wrong with Jack and Davey needs to figure it out quick.

The chant starts again. “Jack! Jack! Jack! Jack!”

“All right!” Jack yells, holding up his hands. He pauses, swallowing, and gives Davey a long look.

Davey feels dread coiling in his gut. He wants to go to Jack, to beg the other boy to tell him what’s wrong. But Jack looks away.

“Pulitzer.”

There is dead silence, everyone waiting.

“Raised the price of papes without so much as a word to us and that was a lousy thing to do. So we got mad, and we showed ‘em we ain’t gonna be pushed around. So’s we go on strike! And then what happens? Well, Pulitzer lowers the price of papes, so’s we’ll go back to work.”

The Newsies began clapping again. Davey joined them, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still off.

Jack opened his mouth again. “And then a few weeks after that, he hikes up his price again. And don’t think he won’t! So what what do we do then? And what do we do when he decides to raise his price again after that? Fellas, we gotta be realistic here!”

No. Davey started forward. He never should have let Jack speak, not with that look on his face. Something had gone terribly wrong, and Davey would have to act quick to fix it.

Jack is still pleading with the Newsies. “If we don’t work, we don’t get paid. How many days can you go without making money?”

He spins around, and suddenly he’s right in Davey’s face. Davey is reminded of the day the strike had started, Jack’s sunset eyes staring into his soul. But now, instead of victory, all he sees is crushing defeat.

“Huh?” Jack asks. “Believe me. However long, Pulitzer can go longer.”

He turns away from Davey. Davey just stands there, too shocked to speak.

“But I have spoken to Mr. Pulitzer!” Jack says. “And he has given me his word. If we disband the union he will not raise prices again for two years! He will even put that in writing!”

He’s practically shouting the last few sentences over the cries of a hundred angry Newsies all talking at once. Everything is falling apart in rapid motion, and Davey can’t look away.

“Now I say we take the deal!” Jack finishes, desperately. “We go back to work knowing our price is secure. All you gotta do is vote ‘no’. Vote ‘no’!”

Spot rushes the stage, bowling into Jack, who goes reeling. Davey dives between them, desperate to stop a fight breaking out in the chaotic theatre.

He turns to look at Jack just in time to see a man hand the Newsie a stack of crisp bills.

“He’s a sellout!” Someone snarls.

Les darts from the crowd, hurrying up behind Jack and tugging his right sleeve to get his attention.

Jack shouts and spins, his hand raised.

Les flinches back, terror on his face. Several Newsies yell.

Jack freezes just in time, but Les is already fleeing.

“You’re a traitor, Jack!” Someone screams.

Davey just stands, alone again on the stage. Jack looks up and sees him there. For a moment they lock eyes.

“Davey.” He can’t hear it, but the shape of his name on Jack’s lips is unmistakable.

He shakes his head.

When Jack turns away, Davey can hear the snap of his heart breaking in two.

“Davey! Davey wait!”

“It’s David.” He snaps at Katherine. “What do you want?”

He expects her to snap back. He could use a fight right now to take his focus away from the crushing pain in his chest.

Instead she lowers her head, her eyes filling with tears. “This is all my fault, David. I’m so sorry.”

“Your fault?” Davey scoffs. “Yeah I’m sure you just went and told Jack to go and destroy everything we worked so hard for. Sounds exactly like you.”

Katherine sniffs. “It may not sound like Katherine Plumber, but you might believe it from Katherine Pulitzer.”

All the air rushed out of Davey at once. There were a million things going through his head, but only one question he needed answered first. “Does Jack know?”

Katherine nods, her face crumpling. “I went to see my father, before coming here. He figured out what I had been doing, and he used me to get Jack all twisted around. He was already hurting so bad, and I think realizing who I was… oh Davey, the look on his face!” She was sobbing now.

“What happened?”

“Jack wasn’t budging. Dad tried to offer him whatever he wanted, a job, money, a damn ticket to Santa Fe. Jack wouldn’t take it.” She wiped her eyes. “But then he threatened you.”

“Pulitzer threatened us?” Davey asked. “The Newsies?”

“No! Davey, ugh.” Kath stamped her foot. “Why are boys so stupid? He threatened you! By name! Said he’d haul you and Les off to the Refuge if Jack didn’t betray you.”

“I don’t need his protection!” Davey said angrily.

“That’s not how Jack sees it.” Race joined them. He looked wrecked. Davey saw Spot hovering not far away, the Brooklyn Newsie still looking pissed.

“Jack doesn’t think I can take care of myself?” Davey asked indignantly.

“Look.” Race said quietly. “I know you’re mad. But you don’t know what that place is like.”

“I can take care of myself! I don’t need Jack to coddle me!”

“They broke his arm!” Race screamed back.

“What?” Kath looked horrified.

Race swallowed, his face pale as a sheet. He was shaking. “They broke his arm. In the Refuge. His right. You ever notice he don’t lift it over his shoulder much? That he kinda rolls it to warm it up? It never quite healed right. Never got a chance to really. I set it as best I could, but I’m no doctor.”

The casual way Race talked about setting Jack’s broken arm made Davey want to be sick.

“Why would they do that?” Kath whispered.

Race couldn’t meet her eyes. “They found his art. He’d been doing it for some of the little kids, just doodles, really, to keep their spirits up. Well, Snyder decided he didn’t like that. So, right there in front of everybody, he just picks Jack up, grabs his arm at the shoulder and elbow, and twists. The way he screamed… I…” Race closed his eyes. “And that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was when he came to enough to realize he might never be able to paint again. That they had tried to take away the one thing he loved most of all.”

Kath is crying.

Davey swipes at his own eyes. “Race. That’s… why are you telling me this?”

Race laughs bitterly. “Because you, and Kath, and Les, and everybody. You come in here and you buy the lie. Famous Jack Kelly, larger than life, Manhattan Newsie leader. And he’s got you all fooled so good you can’t see the hurting kid underneath.”

“He was gonna hit Les.” Davey pointed out.

Race snorted. “Trust me, he’d never hurt that kid. Les caught him scared, and he touched Jack’s right side. Jack was just trying to protect himself where he’d already been hurt before.”

Davey feels sick. “I have to find him.”

“Go.” Kath nodded. “I’ll stay here and make sure the Les and the boys make it home.”

“Thank you.” Davey hesitates, then looks at Race. “Racetrack? I’m sorry about what happened to you in the Refuge.”

“Thanks, Davey.” Race says hoarsely.

Davey gives them both a sad smile and hurries away. He’s pretty sure he knows where to find Jack, and there’s no time to waste.


	12. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davey and Jack finally get a chance to really talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the amazing headcanon post from the lovely @newsiesquare! A huge thank you to them once again. Go check them out!   
> https://newsiesquare.tumblr.com/post/176601610166/jacks-broken-shoulder-so-i-was-rewatching-the

Jack’s penthouse is somehow exactly how Davey had imagined it.

He’d read Crutchie’s letter after Jack had fallen asleep, smoothing out the paper where Jack had crushed it in his grief. Somehow, he’d known that Jack, having seemingly lost everything, would come here at the end, if only to say goodbye.

Now Davey just had to find the right words to make him stay.

Jack doesn’t react as Davey steps onto the roof, even thought the clang of the ladder is a dead giveaway. He’s hunched over, impossibly small. The great Jack Kelly, except now Davey can see through the illusion. He isn’t a dashing folk hero or a daring cowboy or a fearless leader. He’s just a seventeen-year-old kid, carrying burdens too big for him to bear alone.

Davey felt the last of his anger melt away like snow.

“Jack?”

Jack tenses. “Go away.”

“No.”

Jack huffed. “You here to hit me then?”

“Hit you? Jack, why would I have come up here to hit you?”

“Les.” Jack’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry Davey. I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’ta done it, you have to know that. He scared me is all, I didn’t know…”

“Hey.” Davey knelt beside the shuddering boy. “I know, Jack. I know. You’ve never been anything but sweet to Les. You scared each other, but he’ll forgive you, I promise.”

“And you?” Jack asked quietly. “What about you, Davey?”

Davey sighed, sitting back against the bars of the penthouse. “I won’t pretend what you did didn’t hurt something awful, Jack Kelly. When you said those things, talked about making a deal with Pulitzer… I was angry. I couldn’t understand, after everything, why you’d sell us out for money.”

“Well, you know, I’ve never had much, Davey. I’d never make that amount of money if I spent my whole life selling papes.” Jack deflected.

Davey ignored him. “Except you didn’t. Pulitzer offered you everything you’d ever wanted and you turned him down.”

Jack froze.

“In fact,” Davey said, his mouth suddenly dry, his pulse racing, “you didn’t give Pulitzer the time of day until he threatened me by name.”

Jack swallowed. His hands unclenched, and for the first time Davey noticed the paper he was gripping tightly. The drawing was darkly shadowed, bleak and hopeless. He knew what it was without asking.

“Race told me a bit about what happened to you in the Refuge. I didn’t… shit Jack. I knew it was bad but I never realized the kind of place that it really was. The kind of monster Snyder was. What he did to you, Jack. It was horrible, and wrong, and I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

His stomach clenches painfully when he realizes Jack is crying quietly, the older boy’s shoulders shaking against his own.

He steeled himself. “But I have to know, Jack. Why me? You know I would have faced the danger, and gladly, if it would have helped us win.”

“I couldn’t.” Jack sobs. “I let Crutchie get taken, Davey, taken to the place of all my worst nightmares, and I couldn’t save him.”

He shoves the drawing at Davey. Three boys to a bed, rats and vermin everywhere. Davey can feel the grief and terror even in the stark lines.

Jack shakes his head. “The thought of him in there, its like torture. But you… Davey, I never planned on someone like you. Most of us, we got our dark sides. A Newsie’s past is rarely pretty. But you, youse had a family. A brudder and a sister who thought the world of you. A ma and pop who loved you and worried about you. You were like, like sunrise. You came, and suddenly I could see the sky again. I couldn’t let them take that away.”

A painful hope is rising in Davey’s chest, choking him. “Jack, what are you saying?”

Jack gave a broken laugh. “Youse gonna make me spell it out, Davey Jacobs? I’m in love with youse. Have been since you told Weasel he shorted you that first day.” He looked up, finally, his face drawn and far too pale. “You gonna punch me now?”

Davey kissed him instead.

When he pulled back, Jack gaped at him. “Wha…”

He smiled, brushing across the Jack’s cheekbones with his thumbs, rubbing away the tear tracks. “Just for the record, I fell for you about a minute later.”

“We’s a couple of idiots then.”

“Well, Kath certainly thinks so.” Davey agreed, smirking.

“You mean it, Davey?” Jack asked, hope blooming in his eyes. “After everything?”

“I mean it.” And just to prove it, Davey kissed him again.

“About time.”

Jack and Davey leapt apart, Jack’s eyes darting wildly to the ladder where Katherine stood on the top step.

“What, you, Katherine, what are you doing here?” Jack’s voice cycled through shock, fear, and finally into anger.

“It’s okay.” Davey reassured him. “Kath told me everything.”

“She tell you she’s Pulitzer’s daughter?” Jack snarled.

“Yes.” Katherine answered. “I did. And I’m really sorry you had to find out like that Jack, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m not my father, and in fact I have a plan that’s going to defeat him once and for all.”

“Once and for all?” Jack snarked.

Kath rolled her eyes. “While you two dumbasses were up here making out, I came up with an idea. The strike was your idea, Jack; the rally was Davey’s; and now my plan will take us to the finish line.”

She held out a piece of paper triumphantly.

“The Children’s Crusade?” Davey read off.

“For the sake of all the kids,” Kath began to recite, “in every sweatshop, factory, and slaughterhouse in New York, I beg you, join us.”

Jack looked stunned. “This…”

Kath nodded. “With those words, the strike stopped being just about the Newsies. You challenged our whole generation to stand up and demand a place at the table! Think Jack! If we publish this, and if every worker under twenty-one read it and stayed home from work, or better yet! If they came to Newsie square, a general citywide strike!” She laughs delightedly. “Even my father couldn’t ignore that!”

“We have one small problem.” Davey pointed out. “We have no way to print it.”

“Oh come on.” Kath sighed. “There has to be one printing press he doesn’t control.”

Jack groaned, dropping his head onto Davey’s shoulder.

“What?”

Jack chuckled darkly. “Before the rally, Pulitzer wanted to give me some time to think. Did ya know he’s got a printing press in his basement?”

Kath squealed. “Then what are we waiting for! Let’s do this!”

“Wait!” Davey stopped her. On one condition.” He said, smoothing out the drawing with a glance at Jack. “Publish this with the article, and use it to get the Refuge shut down. Bring Crutchie and the others home.”

Kath took the drawing, her face falling as she took in the bleak image. She nodded. “I will. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Jack murmured.

Kath took a deep breath, regaining her composure. “Okay. I have to go talk to someone about that printing press. You boys get the Newsies up to speed, and I’ll meet you at my father’s house in two hours.”

Once she’s gone, Davey turns to Jack. “We have a chance now, Jacky. We can still win this, and get Crutchie back! Let’s go!”

“Dave. Davey, wait.” Jack said.

“What?”

“I…” Jack blew out a breath. “What is this for you? I mean, I mean, are you still going to want this tomorrow?”

“Of course I am!”

“Well, don’t just say it like it happens everyday!” Jack cried. “I’m not an idiot! Youse got a family, a good life! Being queer is only gonna complicate that for you, and I don’t want you promisin’ nothin’ you’re just gonna take back later!”

“Jack. Jack come here.” Davey wraps his arms around him, holding Jack tight. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You took a chance on me when no one else would. You believed in me. I have no idea what the future holds. I don’t even know what tomorrow is going to look like. But I want to face it with you at my side, Jack Kelly.”

“You believed in me, too.” Jack said quietly. “This whole strike, fighting back. It never would have been possible without you. You gave me a purpose, David Jacobs.”

“It’s Davey.” Davey corrected softly. “For you, it’s always Davey.”

This time, Jack kissed him.

It didn’t take long for Davey to get the Newsies on board with the new plan, which was good, because he and Jack had already spent a lot of their allotted time on the roof. They hadn’t gone any farther than kissing, still exploring each other and reveling in the newness of their love. If Jack had clung to him a little tighter, a little longer, well. Davey had just tried to offer as much comfort as he could. They both knew there were no guarantees.

Jack was waiting for them not far from the lodging house. “Streets is clear.” He reported quietly as they joined him.

“Jack, I…” Race started.

“Hey.” Jack gripped his shoulder. “Thank you, Racer.”

Race gave him a wobbly smile. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too.”

Davey waved the boys on. “Let’s go.”

As they creep towards Pulitzer’s mansion in the dead of night, Davey thinks wryly of how much he’s changed from that anxious boy who’d first lined up to buy newspapers just a few short days ago. Since then, he’s started a strike, fought the cops, organized a rally, and gotten a boyfriend, and those were only the major items.

He’s going to have some stories to tell when he eventually goes back to school.

Katherine greets them at the window, waving them down into the basement. It’s dark and cold, the only furniture the heavy printing press, and Davey shudders to think of Jack locked up down here for hours, with only Pulitzer’s threats to keep him company.

Jack obviously doesn’t have fond memories of the place, if the way he freezes on the stairs is any indication. Davey grabs his hand, interlacing their fingers and squeezing. He feels Jack let out a shaky breath.

In the dim light, two well-dressed boys have their heads bent together, discussing something.

“Here she is, boys!” Kath gestured excitedly. “Now just think. While my father snores blissfully in his bed, we will be using his very own press to bring him down!”

“Hey, is this what they print the papes on?” Race asks, examining the old press.

One of the well-dressed boys nods at him. “I can see why they tossed this old girl down to the cellar, but I think she’ll do the job.”

“Jack, Davey, this is Darcy.” Katherine introduces the boy. “He knows just about everything there is to know about printing.”

Davey shook Darcy’s hand. “You work for one of the papes?”

“My father owns the Trib.”

“Whoa.” Davey said quietly.

“And this is Bill.” Katherine said, as the other new kid approaches. “He’ll be typesetting the article for us.”

Jack smirks, going for a handshake. “Bill. So, I suppose you’re the son of William Randolph Hearst, right?”

“Yeah!” Bill grins. “And proud to be a part of your revolution!”

Jack and Davey gaped at each other for a moment.

“Ain’t that somethin’.” Jack muttered.

“A little grease and she’ll be good as gold.” Darcy is saying, eyeing the press.

“All right.” Kath takes charge. “Here’s how it’ll work. As we print the papers, Race, you let the Newsies in and they’ll spread them to every working kid in New York. After that…”

“Well, after that it’s up to them.” Jack said softly.

Race nodded at Jack and hurried away to his task. Kath, Darcy, and Bill bent over the press, fine-tuning the last details of the article.

Within moments, the basement is swarming with Newsies making short work of printing hundreds of copies of Kath’s bulletin. Still, with only one press, it’s a long night. Dawn is just touching the horizon as Davey finishes tying the last bundle for transport.

“That’s it then.” Kath says, a little awed. “I’d better get going, I have to go see someone important.”

“Okay.” Davey gives her an encouraging nod. “Jack, we’d better get going to.”

He goes to grab his bundle, but Jack gets there first, their hands brushing in a way that probably looked accidental to anyone else.

“Be careful, Davey.” Jack whispers.

Davey presses their hands tighter, hidden by their bodies. “You too, Jack. I’ll see you soon.”

Jack looks into his soul with those sunset eyes. “Carrying the banner.”

“Carrying the banner.” Davey says back, and then it’s out onto the streets, the Newsies spreading out into the night, carrying the news that would change their world once and for all.


	13. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final confrontation with Pulitzer ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. This has been the craziest thing I've ever done. I wrote over 25k words in two weeks. This little story turned into a major monster and I've loved each and every moment of it. Thank you for all the comments and kudos and love, I appreciate it so very much. I have more planned for these crazy kids, so check out the end notes for info on the sequel that is already in the works!

The next several hours are like a dream. Running full tilt through the dusky streets, passing out dozens of flyers to every kid they find. Asking ‘can you read?’ over and over. ‘Read this’ and handing over Jack’s words, Kath’s words. ‘Join us’ ‘join us’ ‘join us’. Join the strike. Meet us at Newsie square.

Later, Davey will only be able to recall bits and pieces, snapshot images. Les’s face under the first rays of sunshine. The swirl of Kath’s skirts. Darcy and Bill wading into the worst parts of town, uncaring of their fine clothes.

And finally, arriving at Newsie square, exhausted beyond reason and yet somehow beyond the reach of pain or heat or hunger.

Jack, turning to see him, sunset eyes lit once again with the flame of rebellion.

“How’d we do?” Davey asks, joining him at the gate.

Jack shrugs. “We’ll know soon enough.” He glances at the sun peeking over Pulitzer’s mansion. “It’s almost time.”

“What if no one comes?” Les asks uncertainly.

Jack puts his hand on Les’ shoulder and doesn’t answer.

They wait, and slowly, around them, the other Newsies gather. Race, Albert, Specs, Elmer. Henry, Mike, Ike, Romeo, Skittery, Mush, Blink. Smalls, Bumlets, Boots, Tommy Boy, and all the rest. For a moment, Davey’s right back to the first day of the strike, Manhattan standing alone.

And then Spot is there, next to Racetrack. The Brooklyn Newsies file in, swelling the ranks. Then Queens. The Bronx. Eastside and Flushing and Richmond and Woodside.

Then its more than just Newsies. It’s the girls from the factories, Sarah marching proudly at their head. Boys from the slaughterhouses and forges. Messengers on bikes and stableboys smelling of horses and shoeshiners with their hands blackened from the wax.

Davey can’t believe it.

“We did it.” Jack says beside him, dumbstruck. “We shut down the city.”

Davey looks up at Pulitzer’s mansion. “Are you ready?”

“No.” Jack says honestly. “But yeah. Let’s do this.”

“Together.” Davey reminds him.

Spot joins them and they march forward. As they enter the doors, Davey can see the moment Jack puts on his act. The cocky swagger reappears, the carefree affect, the voice layered with laughter.

Except now he knows Jack well enough to see the tiny tremors running through him. To see just how nervous Jack was under the bravado to be back in this place.

“Excuse me!” The woman behind the desk is rising, trying to get their attention, but Jack brushes past her.

The men from before try to stop them, but Jack ducks their hold and runs, hitting the door of Pulitzer’s office full-tilt so that it slams back against the wall.

“You can’t just barge in here!” Someone yells.

Davey’s not paying any attention to anything but Jack as the Newsie reaches Pulitzer’s desk and slams one of the banners down onto the surface.

“Mornin’ gents!” Jack grins.

Pulitzer eyes him. “You’re behind this. We had a deal.”

“And it came with a money back guarantee.” Jack shoots back, tossing a wad of bills onto the banner. “Oh, and thank you for your lesson on the powers of the press.”

“Did you read this boss?” One of Pulitzer’s men is saying as Jack sprawls across one of Pulitzer’s expensive chairs, the picture of ease. Davey’s pretty sire he’s the only one who knew Jack sat down so he wouldn’t fall. “These kids put out a pretty good paper. Very convincing.”

“No doubt written by my daughter.” Pulitzer sighs.

“Oh,” Jack pipes up. “I would sign her before somebody else grabs her.”

Pulitzer rises, his face reddening, and Jack glances back at Davey. Davey nods encouragingly.

“I demand to know who defied my ban on printing strike material.” Pulitzer commands.

“Oh, no.” Jack chuckles. “We’re your loyal employees. Oh, we would never take our business elsewhere.”

It only takes a moment.

“That old printing press in the cellar.” One of Pulitzer’s men says.

“Oh…” The only female in the room agrees.

Pulitzer silences them with a glare. He rounds the desk, stalking towards Jack. “I made you the offer of a lifetime.” He growls. “Anyone who does not act in his own self-interest is a fool!”

Jack’s barely breathing.

Davey doesn’t consciously make the decision to speak, he just knows he needs to take Pulitzer’s focus away from Jack. “What’s that make you?” He shouts.

Pulitzer is focused on him now, all right.

Davey swallows. “This all began because you wanted to sell more papers. But now your circulation is down 70%. Why didn’t you just come talk to us?”

Jack answers for him. “Oh, ‘cause guys like Joe don’t talk to nobodies like us.”

“Sir.” The lady behind Pulitzer is staring out the window. “You might want to take a look at this.”

They all join her, peering down at Newsie square.

Every inch of it is filled with kids, waving signs, shouting, and raising their fists in front of the ‘World’.

It’s the most amazing thing Davey has ever seen.

Spot smiles grimly. “Have a look out there, Mr. Pulitzer. In case you ain’t figured it out, we got you surrounded.”

Jack turned to face Pulitzer. “New York is closed for business. Paralyzed. You can’t get a paper or a shoeshine. You can’t send a message, ride an elevator or cross the Brooklyn Bridge. Hell, you can’t even get out of your own office. So what’s your next move?”

“Mr. Pulitzer!” One of the men from outside rushes in. “The mayor is here, along with your daughter! And oh, you won’t believe who else!”

The mayor strides in. “Good morning Mr. Pulitzer. I think you know the governor.”

“Governor Roosevelt?” Pulitzer asks.

The man himself is next through the door. “Joseph, Joseph, Joseph. What have you done now?”

Kath and Medda hurry in after him. Davey catches Kath’s eye and she laughs, shaking her head and pointing at Medda as Pulitzer tries to bluster his way out of his own mess.

“And is this the boy of whom you spoke?” Roosevelt is asking Kath, motioning to Jack.

She nods.

“How are you, son?” Roosevelt asks, patting Jack’s shoulder. “I’m told we once shared a carriage ride!”

“The…the pleasure is mine, Mr. Governor.” Jack stammers, holding out his hand.

Roosevelt shakes it firmly.

As soon as his back is turned, Jack whirls to Davey, holding his hand like it was on fire. Davey laughs, slinging an arm around him. Jack leans into the touch for a brief, wonderful second.

“Well, Joe.” Roosevelt continues. “Don’t just stand there. Give ‘em the good news.”

“What good news?” Pulitzer snarls.

“That you’ve come to your senses and rolled back prices.” Roosevelt says flatly. “Unless of course you want to invite a full state Senate investigation into your employment practices?”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“After the pressure you wielded to keep me from office? I’d do it with a smile!” Roosevelt shook his head. “Come along Joseph, there’s only one thing worse than a hard heart, and that’s a soft head. And think of the happiness you’ll bring those children!”

Pulitzer glared.

Roosevelt glanced at Jack. “He doesn’t do happiness, does he?”

Pulitzer clenched his jaw. “Mr. Kelly. If I may speak to you. Alone.”

“No, I’m not leaving you.” Davey said to Jack instantly.

Jack gave him a brave smile. “Don’t worry. I got it.”

Spot put a hand on Davey’s shoulder. “Come on, kid. Jack’ll be okay.” He nodded at Jack. “We’s right outside.”

Jack nodded back.

The Newsies looked up as Davey, Spot, and the others joined the crowd.

“Jack?” Race asked anxiously.

“S’ok Racer.” Spot said gently. “He an’ Pulitzer are talking terms.”

“Is that really Governor Roosevelt?” Sarah is asking Kath.

Davey stares at the doors and wills them to open.

The seconds tick by like years, but finally Jack emerges. His face gives nothing away as he surveys the gathered crowd.

“Well?” Les asks, looking up at him.

Jack grins down at him. “Newsies of New York City!” He shouts. “WE WON!”

The square erupts. Kath throws her arms around Davey. He spins her around, laughing, watching Jack do the same to Les. Then it’s a neverending series of hugs and pats and handshakes from friends and allies alike.

Eventually, Jack regains their attention. “And now, I would like to introduce my very own personal pal, Governor Theodore Roosevelt himself!”

Roosevelt stepped up. “Each generation must, at the height of its power, step aside and invite the young to share the day. You have laid claim to our world, and I believe the future, in your hands, will be bright and prosperous!”

Everyone claps, but Roosevelt isn’t quite done. He turns to face Jack. “Your drawings, son, brought another matter to bear. Officers, if you please!”

At the sound of the whistle, Davey felt his heart stop. He looked at Jack, panicked.

The crowd parted slowly, all eyes drawn to the movement, until…

“Hey, Jack, look!” Race shrieked. “It’s Crutchie!”

The Manhattan Newsies cheered.

“Hiya fellas!” Crutchie beamed. “You miss me?”

Jack was already running. He slowed just enough to avoid knocking the younger boy to the ground, throwing his arms around Crutchie and holding on for dear life. Crutchie clung to him, tangling his fists in the cloth of Jack’s shirt and tucking his face into Jack’s chest.

“I’m okay, Jack.” Davey was just close enough to hear Crutchie whisper.

They finally pulled apart, but Jack kept a hand on Crutchie’s arm.

Crutchie turned to wave someone on. “Oh! And look what I got for youse. A gift, straight from the Refuge. All right, bring him in fellas!”

“Oh, it’s Snyder the Spider!” Race yelled.

Jack flinched back, terror on his face, but Crutchie caught his hand. “It’s okay, Jack.”

Davey finally registered the fact that there were two policemen holding Snyder tightly between them.

“Jack!” Roosevelt boomed. “With those drawing you made an eloquent argument for shutting down the Refuge. Be assured that Mr. Snyder’s abuses will be fully investigated. Officers, take him away!”

Crutchie stepped forward. “Please, Your Highness, may I do the honors?”

Roosevelt waved him on, and Crutchie grinned, accepting the handcuffs one of the officers handed him and fastening them to a blustering Snyder’s wrists.

The police began to drag the struggling Spider away, but Crutchie wasn’t quite done. He raised his cane and gave Snyder a smart whack across the rear, causing the man to jump and curse as he was finally removed from sight.

“Thank you, Governor!” Jack breathed, grabbing onto Crutchie again like he’d never let go.

Pulitzer had been watching silently, but now he spoke. “I can’t help thinking,” he said to Jack, “if one of your drawings convinced the governor to shut down the Refuge, what might a daily political cartoon do to expose the dealings in our own government’s back rooms?” He turned to Roosevelt with a smirk. “What do you say, Teddy? Care to let this young man’s artistry shine a lantern behind your closed doors?”

“I…” Jack looked at Davey helplessly. “Oh.”

Roosevelt laughed. “You don’t have to decide on the spot, son.”

Pultizer shrugged. “Now, did I not hear something about the strike being settled?”

Wiesel took that as his cue. “Papes for the Newsies! Line up! These papes ain’t gonna sell themselves.”

Roosevelt and Medda left the square arm in arm. The non-Newsie kids began to trickle out of the square. Sarah and Kath gave Davey, Les, and Jack hugs as they left. Brooklyn marched away in proud formation, Spot tipping his hat to Race and Jack as they moved off. Finally, it was just Manhattan left, and the moved towards the circulation window.

Davey had only taken a few steps when he realized Jack hadn’t moved.

“Jack? Come on! We’ve got a union to run.” He moved closer, trying to catch Jack’s far-away gaze. “Besides, didn’t someone just offer you a pretty exciting job?”

Jack huffed a laugh. “I… yeah. I guess he did.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I just…” Jack reached for words.

“Jack.” Davey wanted to reach for his hand, but with everyone watching he settled for gripping Jack’s shoulder instead. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you, ok? Right by your side.”

Jack’s smile lit up his sunset eyes. “Well, that’s good, then. Cause my dreams don’t matter much if you ain’t with me.”

“Well Jack,” Race hollered from the front of the line. “you in or you out?”

Jack laughed. “Hey, I’m busy here!” He looked at Davey. “Carrying the banner?”

“Carrying the banner.”

They went to get their papes shoulder to shoulder.

And if they stopped on the way to their route so Jack could push Davey up against the wall of an alley and kiss him senseless, well. That was for them and them alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for supporting this labor of love! I'm both relieved and heartbroken that its over, but never fear! A sequel is coming!
> 
> The Only Math I Need is Me + You  
> 'Davey Jacobs won Jack Kelly's heart in a whirlwind week. But with the adrenaline of the strike fading, the two boys begin to face the reality of their very different lives. With challenges coming at them from all sides, Davey and Jack must decide whether their love is worth the price.'
> 
> I'll see you again soon! 
> 
> ~Alanna


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